


The Traitor

by HallowedJack



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Masturbation, Angst, Blood and Gore, Cuddling, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Scenting, Stalking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedJack/pseuds/HallowedJack
Summary: It wasn’t just that they left him behind, he was fine with that, but they had used him as bait. He knew he needed to stand up for himself. But when Laurie teaches him a few things about standing up for himself, he catches the attention of The Trapper.Dwight knows that what he feels is wrong, that it’s just too dangerous, but it’s not as if he has any other choice than to accept The Trapper’s affections.





	1. I - Bait

The gates were open. But Dwight didn’t know which one. His heart beat frantically as he hid behind a rock. Sweat beaded at his brow, darkening his messy bangs.

 

He and his group had been separated after a chase, the kind that left Dwight in the sights of The Trapper. At the time, Dwight had assumed Claudette was sprinting towards him to work on the last generator with him. When he saw the raised cleaver behind her head, he knew that to not be the case. It couldn’t have been on purpose though, and even if it had, he was fine taking a hit for her. That didn’t happen though, as Dwight soon found himself speed vaulting and running through a field of downed cars and pallets. His heartbeat grew calmer, as much as one’s could while running, anyway.

 

Dwight’s stomach grew heavier than lead as he took sight of the closed gate. This was not the right one. Glancing over his shoulder, he quickly proceeded to duck behind a grove of birch trees. With each step towards where he thought the second door had sounded, his thoughts grew frantic. With each step his panic deepened. He was the last one in the trial, he was all alone with the Trapper. They had left without him. Dwight calmed himself, bracing against rusted metal to take a few deep breaths. Focus. He needed to focus. Focus on pinpointing where he had heard the second gates’s shrill alarm. Focus on glancing at the floor for glimpses of metal teeth. He knew what it felt like to have his leg crushed by one of them. Not today. A scream of pain rang out in the distance. Maybe not alone, then.

 

Crows cawed and scattered as he ran past a flock perched upon a boulder. He felt watched by them, taunted almost by their incessant cawing. He wouldn’t be surprised if that turned out to actually be the case. Nothing made sense in this nightmare. Dwight resisted the urge to cover his ears. He needed them to focus, and he wouldn’t give that up just to shut up some stupid birds. Peeking around a corner, he now saw the cost was clear. The dark fog rolled across the meadow grass, rendering it almost impossible to scan the ground ahead of him.

 

Dwight’s heart raced. He glanced again over his shoulder. To his right, Claudette was sprinting towards him, hunched over and groaning in pain. Blood stained the ground behind her. The Trapper was hot on her tail, cleaver raised in preparation for a lung. Claudette saw this, juking around him and vaulting through a nearby window and crouching. She was only a few meters away from him now, his bond with his teammates revealing her aura to him. Dwight inched towards the exit gates, now seeing his teammates waiting and hiding behind the brick pillars. Dwight wouldn’t make the final sprint to the exit gates, he would wait to see if Claudette avoided The Trapper. He could afford to risk an unhook, having avoided such the whole match.

 

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears now. Dwight peeked around the obstacle, seeing The Trapper’s hulking form looping around the other side. But he couldn’t yell out to her, he’d lose his own stealth. Another glance at the other survivors. They were beckoning him towards them with their hands, telling him the coast was clear. He glanced back once more at Claudette, who was now sprinting at full speed towards him and the exit gates.

 

He had to go now. So he did.

 

David was waving frantically before he spoke.

 

“Dwight! C’mon, coast is clear!”

 

From behind the cover, Dwight sprinted out into the sight of the Trapper. Just a few meters to the gate. Impossibly, his heartbeat sped up. Almost ready to jump out of his chest. He didn’t have the time to be too careful anymore. Claudette was only seconds away from him, meaning The Trapper was much closer.

 

The air rushed through his hair as he quick-vaulted. His tie whipped back against his face from the speed. His footfalls were quick and swift, thanks to a few things Feng Min taught him. David was cheering the both of them on as they made their made dashes towards the open exit gates. They were all going to escape together, and he hadn’t even been hooked once. It felt great to know that he had helped. He smiled genuinely and yelled out an exclamation of glee. They did it.

 

Dwight’s foot landed in a patch of grass.

 

SNAP

 

Dwight’s world was pain. The worst kind. The kind that came from sharpened metal teeth clamping through muscle and gnawing against bone. Hot blood poured onto the grass.

 

“I- Didn’t see that there! Quick, David!”

 

David stared into his eyes as he stayed behind cover. Dwight watched David Ignore his pleas for help. But David wasn’t alone, Nea was to his right. Maybe- no. She remained still as well.

 

Both fear and pain boiled up inside him and released itself in a confused wail of agony. The trap ground harder, gnawed at his right leg. He was so close to the exit gates. A red light filtered in between his legs as Claudette pushed him aside. Unable to balance himself, he fell over on one knee, allowing the bear trap to grind through muscle at a harsher angle. Just as he thought the pain was peaking, it got leagues worse. Metal teeth separated muscle completely. He could barely twitch his right leg now.

 

But he didn’t even have the time to watch his teammates escape the trial without him, didn’t even have time to assess the grisled remains of his right foot, didn’t have the ability to dodge the strike that.... Never come.

 

There was no pain of a blade cleaving his muscles apart, and that was worse. Not being hit was worse than being downed with a hatchet. It had to mean The Trapper had something up his sleeve, something he was planning. He hoped it wasn’t one of those things the killer could burn that would allow them to be killed at their hand. It had only happened to him once. One time too many. But hope never got him far, not even enough to get help from his teammates.

 

Dwight was bait. His teammates used him as bait. Bait. Nothing more than that. The hot liquid running down his face was not blood, but tears. Tears from both pain but mostly despair. He didn’t want to face them after the trial, didn’t want to listen to their meaningless apologies. Those only worked the first few times.

 

He couldn’t help but whimper as the Trapper bent forward and took hold of the bloodied metal contraption. He inspected it with his large fingers, prodding at the release. After the trap was jostled slightly, it’s teeth clamped tighter. Dwight whimpered. The Trapper made a low grumbling sound.

 

Dwight would have been confused if not for the incessantly burning pain. Before he could see what was happening, he was picked up and thrown over the Trapper’s shoulder. The trap hung painfully from his limp right foot. It made sense now. Off to the hook. Back to the order of things. He didn’t even try to wiggle, knowing there had to be a hook close enough in range. It reminded him that he’d have to speak with Kate about her struggling strategy. And he saw the hook. Rusty, bloody, sharp. Not the first time he had seen one of them. Not the last time either. Looking at them was uncomfortable, as if the darkness itself was beckoning him to jump on it himself. But they passed it. His confusion deepened. And now he struggled. Struggled for the fact that he had no clue what was going to happen now that they had passed the hook. It’s not like The Trapper didn’t see it either, as the wretched thing was right in front of him.

 

When Dwight’s struggling caused The Trapper to bump into the side of a fence, the killer grunted out but continued his strong pace. He definitely needed Kate to teach him a few things. But he held that thought. Held it because he didn’t know if she’d be willing. Thoughts of doubt clouded his mind. They didn’t like him. Just bait.

 

He saw the familiar sight of an industrial shack. Corrugated steel greeted him as they entered. Dwight struggled harder when he saw the red glow emanating from the darkened staircase. The basement. He was almost free, but with each step down his dread deepened. There was no hope, he’d be sacrificed on the hook. These hooks were always the worst. They just hurt more. More in a way they all understood but couldn’t describe. Draining, in a way.

 

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dwight stopped struggling. There was no point anymore. The hooks were boring into his soul, disturbingly inviting. Dwight sobbed, tears running down and dripping off his face. He wasn’t put on the hook, instead placed onto the ground. Trap still attached to his foot, pain shot up his leg as he limped and braced himself against a nearby wall. He wouldn’t be able to run. The Trapper watched him. Salty tears stung at his eyes.

 

The killer stepped closer, close enough that Dwight could hear his laboured breathing through the menacing teeth of his mask. Close enough to see his chest rising and falling. Another step closer. Dwight went to take another backward, but bumped against a wall. Cornered. His body was basked in The Trapper’s red light, everything was red.

 

Back against the wall, he stared fearfully at the killer, expecting some sort of brutal assault.

 

A hand was raised. A dirty, large and scarred one. But it did not strike, instead gently swiping the wetness from under his eye. From this close, he could see the movement of skin under the off-white mask and feel the warm breath brushing past his cheeks. And he stopped sobbing, not from the comforting motion, but from confusion. Tears still leaked, but at least he no longer whined in despair. Puffy eyes glanced up at the mask, Dwight sniffed.

 

“Don’t be cryin now, boy.”

 

The tears themselves stopped now, his sobbing interrupted moments ago.

 

It was his voice. The deep gravelly rumble that echoed out from around his mask. Dwight wasn’t sure, but he picked up what he thought to be an English accent. Certainly not what he expected, but strangely fitting.

 

He didn’t even think killers could speak. From experience he knew they could hum or laugh, but he had always thought it was just a rule that they couldn’t talk. For as much as he wanted to scream abuse at the killer for all the pain he had caused, he had no words. Absolutely no words. What could he say? Thank you? He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Would never forget all of the shit he’s been put through by his hand. Hell, the trap was still hanging off his leg, radiating pain. It hung at his side limply.

 

“Thank you.”

 

But he did. He did say thank you. Because he was thankful, thankful for the distraction from how the trial had ended. From the pain as well. As much as he loathed the killer, he couldn’t deny the fact that the occurrence of a killer talking to him overshadowed any anger or sadness towards being bait. It was madness, even juggling the thought of amicability with a killer. No, he was just acting timid so he wouldn’t be killed. That was the explanation he’d go with.

 

The Trapper shook his head.

 

The same hand caressed his shoulder. Dwight flinched away from the touch. The Trapper’s shoulder fell slightly, just enough for Dwight to notice. Just enough for the slightest threads of doubt and guilt to weave through his stomach.

 

“I saw what they did to you. Very unkind, that is. I’ll get this off you now.”

 

It was a weird feeling, knowing that the killer was able to talk, think. Like a real person. Person.That was the problem. He was still a killer, even if he was aware of the somewhat dirty strategy. It’s not as if he didn’t think the killers were people, just that he didn’t really have time to think of them as anything other than monsters to be avoided.

 

It was the kind of feeling that was warm, when coupled with the fact that somebody was finally acknowledging that using him as bait was a bad thing. Sure there was Meg, who always offered sympathetic looks, but never actually spoke up. Nobody ever confronted David.

 

The Trapper kneeled down in front of him, reaching for the workings of the trap rendering the flesh of Dwight’s leg. At the slightest jostle, a fresh wave of pain coursedthrough him. Even after hundreds of trials, his pain tolerance never increased. Tolerance was a physical thing, the kind of thing that got regenerated after a trial. With this fresh wave of pain, he whimpered once more.

 

“Must hurt a lot, eh?”

 

The way The Trapper said it was wrong. The way he almost sounded prideful was wrong. There was something else in the words too, something he couldn’t quite catch. If not for the mask, Dwight was sure he’d find a lopsided grin plastering his face.

 

“Yeah. Please, just get it off.”

 

Talking to the killer- using manners nonetheless- was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t be doing it.

 

The Trapper nodded and fiddled with a few components before prying open the trap. Dwight watched with morbid curiosity as he saw The Trapper’s thick biceps bulging with use. It only made him think of his own weakness. He was not fast like Meg, strong like David or sneaky like Nea. If this hulk of a man was having difficulty getting it open, it would explain how he had never been able to get it open himself. David had before. That thought was sour. He frowned.

 

When the trap’s teeth relinquished their hold on his flesh, the rushing of air against his raw nerve endings hurt even more. Another sniffle.

 

“There, there. I’ll have to fix that up back at camp.”

 

This was all new to him. The idea of not being killed by The Trapper was odd enough, but the thought of returning to camp with a killer filled him with dread. Under no circumstances would he lead a killer back to his camp. It was beyond reason for The Trapper to suggest such. He couldn’t leave the trials and follow after him. Those were the rules. Dwight didn’t want to disobey the darkness.

 

“Ummm... I don’t think bringing you back to my camp is a good idea.”

 

It was a deep chuckle that brought the shiver down his spine. And for a moment, Dwight froze, thinking himself to have done something wrong. That was when a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder in a reassuring manner, clearly indicating the killer’s own amusement. It wasn’t a nice feeling, for his own naivety to apparently be mocked. It didn’t feel malevolent though, like the harsh words of David or Claudette, more like the friendly banter of Quentin or Tapp. It wasn’t friendly though, couldn’t be, not when he was still basked in the red light of a killer.

 

Dwight took a moment to breath. His pulse was slowing now, not like he knew it should have been racing this close to a killer. But he could still see that red light, couldn’t see much that wasn’t bathed in it, almost.

 

The Trapper sheathed his bloodied cleaver in a pocket of his outfit. Purposefully making a show of using his other hand to ruffle Dwight’s hair. While it may have been intended to comfort, jt really only made him pause. Pause just enough to notice that his tears had stopped. The pain was still angry and raw, but manageable now.

 

If The Trapper wanted to kill him, it would have been done by now. But there was still the matter of camp. The Trapper wanted him to lead him to the camp. Probably just to kill them all. That’s why he was seeing kept alive. Bait. Again.

 

“Not your camp, boy, ours.”

 

Dwight paused. The hand was removed from his shoulder. His shoulder muscles missed the pressure.

 

“Oh.”

 

Of course.

 

Sure, it made sense that the killer would have an area of their own outside the trials, but it was honest to god not something that he and any of the survivors had ever discussed. It just didn’t matter. Irrelevant. But it did make sense, ultimately.

 

He didn’t know if that alternative was any better. He didn’t even know if that alternative was possible. What he did know, was that there was no way he’d be facing any of the killers outside of the trial. Especially not in their own turf. The darkness would never allow it anyway, wouldn’t allow the order of things like this to be disrupted.

 

“Can I just go back to my own camp?”

 

The sigh was just barely audible. Just barely, but enough to know that wasn’t the right response. Would that cleaver be retrieved now? Finish him off now that his blood was still leaking out over the floor.

 

It was weird, how disconnected from reality everything here was. How the darkness managed to get a concept such as blood loss wrong. He had it down to an exact amount. There was a specific amount of time after any bleeding injury after one would begin dying from blood loss, regardless of how much was actually lost.

 

“Sorry, love. I’ll patch up your leg for you now though.”

 

Dwight took that as a forceful no.

 

The Trapper’s words were final, final like a school teacher dishing out discipline in a classroom. Like Dwight was a child. It was final, leaving no room for objection or questioning.

 

“I see. Why heal me though, when it’ll just happen when we leave?”

 

It always did. Regardless of if they were sacrificed or survived. Their bodies would revert to a previous form, an uninjured, pristine form. It almost didn’t matter. Aside from the pain of course.

 

“Nah, that don’t happen for us here. Gottatake care of ya, don’t I?”

 

No he didn’t. Especially not him. Especially not one of them. A killer. The thought was humiliating, how a killer was showing him the most compassion in his past few weeks than any of his so-called companions.

 

It was still difficult to understand what was happening. Although, he’s never benefited from trying to understand the darkness. Nothing made sense. Especially not how The Trapper was currently wrapping a bandage around his gored leg. It was done with such a stark gentleness that he had a hard time believing it was actually The Trapper. The Trapper who was known for his brute-like form and strength at destroying obstacles they’d throw down in front of him. Not for delicately wrapping bandages. Not at all.

 

But he didn’t complain, mostly because he knew it’d do no good other than potentially anger the larger man. Especially not when he’d apparently be unable to heal. That would suck big time.

 

When The Trapper tied off the bandages, Dwight bit his lip, staring up at the killer doused in his red stain. He didn’t want to say it. But he had to. He’d feel dishonest otherwise, because from the way his stomach was fluttering, he honestly was thankful.

 

It was barely a creak, one he hoped the killer heard.Only slightly audible.

 

“Thank you.”

 

The Trapper wiped Dwight’s blood into his smock, the bright red mark standing out among the shadows and hints of dark magenta. Some of that was probably his and his friend’s. The thought made him spin.

 

The killer’s voice was content, he laughed as he spoke.

 

“No problem.I’ll take real good care of ya, don’t worry.”

 

It was confusing, how quickly all of this had happened. Confusing how he went from fleeing killers to apparently being healed by one. He didn’t even know what he had done recently, besides learning a thing or two from Laurie and Tapp. The Trapper’s words did not provide much comfort, really only allowing Dwight to nod. At least the pain in his leg was but more than a dull ache.

 

As if to physically imprint his words, The Trapper ran his rough fingers along Dwight’s head and through his dark hair. The sensation was undeniably comforting and pleasant as it sent a shiver down his spine, but he knew it was only a physical result to stimulus. And the comfort only came because his mother used to do that. His parents. He missed his mother. Tears threatened to well up again. He would probably never see them again.?

 

A strong arm drew Dwight close, enveloping him in warmth and closeness. Dwight breathed through his mouth after getting a whiff of the Trapper’s smock.

 

“How do we get back to your camp then? I know you can’t get through the exit gates but is there another way or something.

 

The Trapper gave Dwight’s side a little squeeze, and he startled.

 

“It’s not too hard. I have permission so it’ll let us through, but only to my camp. Not yours.”

 

It gave Dwight something to think about as he leaned against The Trapper on his way up. From the way he limped and pressed against The Trapper’s shoulder, one could tell he couldn’t walk very well with a leg like that. Pain. Not as bad as before but still debilitating enough to make him whimper with every sudden movement. Thoughts of a creepy summer camp floated into his mind. A final though to chew on.

 


	2. II - Homecoming

Dwight never liked the forest, he never had. The callings of crows serenaded their walk through the murky grove. The sky was a hazy brown-orange, like usual. He didn’t like not being able to tell the time. None of them did. A strange howl rang out in the distance, and Dwight leaned a little bit closer to the killer who’s trap had crushed his leg. He was leaning against the person responsible for his limp.

 

Sickening.

 

He didn’t think this would have worked at all. To be honest, Dwight expected The Trapper to have been blocked off by the black spindly appendages. But it didn’t. The Trapper simply crossed the gate’s threshold with him in tow. It was simple. They were on their way to camp.

 

Dwight was stuck in a bad position. On one hand, he absolutely did not wish to enter a camp full of killers. On the other, he did not wish to be left in the woods by himself. Even now, he could hear the darkness’s whispers. He couldn’t stay here in the woods. This was not a place meant for him.

 

Most of the other survivors back at camp didn’t mind the woods. Jake loved it, frequently going for walks with Meg and Nea. He had never joined them. It just wasn’t right, there was something wrong with those woods. He knew that for a fact, Meg rattling on about how everything looped back and never went anywhere. Dwight wasn’t sure what it meant, but he wouldn’t experience it for himself. There was no reason to be in these woods. Even though The Trapper was by his side- a strangely comforting, and unnerving presence, Dwight couldn’t help but still feel a bit on edge. It probably wasn’t just the lingering feeling of eyes watching him through the dark, but likely still a remaining uncertainty around the bulky and large killer.

 

There was no pounding heartbeat.

 

Dwight listened to The Trapper’s masked breath. It was notably softer, quieter than it had been in the trial.

 

He didn’t want to disturb this quiet by saying anything foolish or unnecessary. Didn’t want to provoke. So he just looked up at the man, at his unsettling white mask. Being able to look at it without being in danger was a strange feeling.

 

After what Dwight thought to be about five minutes of walking through seemingly nowhere, a clearing appeared in his sight. While the rolling fog prevented him from seeing much of what was in store for him, large shadowy silhouettes loomed ahead. Buildings, likely. The thought was confusing, but he guessed it to be no different than what they had at camp. A simple set of cabins that circled a campfire.

 

As soon as the two stepped past the threshold of fog, it suddenly lifted. Sight cleared, Dwight took in his surroundings. It was not like back at his own camp. The first thing he noticed was how mismatched everything was. The only consistent thing was the dirt path connecting everything. A white-picketed suburban home sat next to a large corrugated steel hut, not unlike the one that they found in every map. But they were not equal, the hut much larger than the house he recognized from Lampkin Lane. 

 

A hand around his waist pulled him from both his stupor and previous position.

 

Dwight looked up at the Trapper, eyes twinkling with both curiosity and a slight trace of dread. Dwight understood that each of those buildings probably belonged to a killer. He didn’t wish to meet them. He didn’t want to see them and face the reoccurring thoughts of blood and gore that had never left him, regardless of how long he had been in the nightmare. The pain that lingered, the pain that could never be forgotten. With each of their steps, the dirt beneath their feet crunched. And so he focused on the rhythmic sound, listened to it like his own heartbeat to calm him.

 

The dirt road looped around a soccer-field sized clearing, creating a horseshoe shaped road. The buildings dotted the outer side, all facing towards what he could see to be a large bonfire. He could see a slight similarity to his own. Not as unfamiliar as he had previously thought.He lingered, glancing at the other homes trying to assign each to a killer from what little he knew about them. It was a nice distraction.

 

But the hand around his waist tightened.

 

“We shouldn’t linger. Not yet, anyway. Wouldn’t want nobody to get spooked and react, now would we?”

 

His voice was raspy, but surprisingly unruffled by the menacing mask.

 

It made Dwight wonder, wonder about if the other killers even knew what was happening. He guessed it made sense then that he was being shuffled towards the corrugated steel home. Wouldn’t want to catch a killer off guard. Definitely not a good idea to upset a bear’s den as a sheep. The home’s lawn was kept nicely. Wildflowers grew in barely-cultivated rows. It was oddly aesthetically pleasing. He didn’t get to appreciate or judge the unkempt lawn of the suburban home from Lampkin Lane next door, the grass surely able to reach his knees. He didn’t get to do those things because after the creaking of a dark-wooden door, Dwight was whisked away into the metal home.

 

The smell of wood and copper assaulted his nose. The kind of wood you’d smell in a library or a Dean’s office. The kind of copper that came from blood. And he hesitated. Hesitated in the home’s threshold enough for The Trapper to bump into him. A gruff grunt followed. A hand smoothed at his hair.

 

“There, there. Welcome home now, boy.”

 

Those words didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right that these killers got stuff like this. The kind of stuff like red-patterned carpets and dark oak furniture and bookshelves galore. Dwight had only a glorified cabin with a few nick knacks and an uncomfortable bunk. As mid-matched as the decor in this home was- industrial steel mixed with ornate wooden fixtures- it was better than anything the survivors had by far.

 

He ignored the words for the most part, half of the stimuli numbed by both wonder and fear.

 

The conclusion wasn’t hard for him to reach. As much of a wimp that he was, he wasn’t stupid. It was a combination of things. A combination of things that let Dwight knew he’d be here for a long while. He didn’t know how to feel about it, but a selfish thought struck him. One he ignored, but knew was wrong. No more generators.

 

Dwight’s footsteps were light, both due to the ache of pain in each step alongside general anxiety. There still could be pain. Not all was relieved. He did feel somewhat better though.His thoughts now only going a hundred kilometres an hour instead of a thousand.

 

They stood in front of each other. Awkwardly. Waiting for the other to speak. One was too afraid to break the silence, and the other too afraid to cause fear.Dwight could hear the soft breathing from under the Trapper’s mask. It was the only noise in the home. Dust floated in the air. All was still.

 

“I’m Evan.”

 

Dwight didn’t know how to respond to that. Sure, he knew how to respond. Knew that supplying his own name was the right thing to do, but he faltered. Faltered enough to leave The Trapper- no, Evan, hanging. It was too much to think about. The killer actually having a name. It made sense that he actually had a name, one that wasn’t designated by a survivor simply based on his behaviour. It was odd to think of him as a person who had a name. A person in general.

 

Dwight bit at his fingernails, tapping his foot slightly as he glanced at a couch. Could he sit? Evan nodded, seeing Dwight’s glance and general nervousness.Relief flooded him as he felt the ache in his leg fade. The pressure was off his legs now that he sat in the cold leather chair. But he didn’t know what to do now. The pressure was on for him to reply, he couldn’t just stare at that menacing mask forever. While he sat, Evan stood, simply looking down at him curiously. Like he was something interesting, novel even.

 

“I’m Dwight. Uhh Dwight Fairfield. Nice to meet you, Evan.”

 

And he blanked, defaulted to the most corporate response ever. The response that he was trained to give. Warmth flooded his cheeks. He had even used his manager voice. Hell, his hand was currently outstretched and seeking to be shook. He stared at his outstretched hand, realizing how awkward he was. He couldn’t retract it though, that’d be rude. Worse than just an awkward handshake.

 

Dwight could have used his first words to the killer in a powerful manner. The kind of powerful that shamed him for all of the pain Evan caused. But he didn’t. While Dwight knew better, he blamed it on not wanting to provoke the man. Not anything to do with the slightest taste of honey in a world of vinegar. Like a fly, caught.

 

The Trapper cocked his head, before taking Dwight’s hand in his own. Evan’s grip was strong, almost painfully so as Dwight tried to reciprocate the firmness. He knew that a weak handshake gave a bad impression, but honestly that was the least of his concern. He was literally giving an awkward handshake in the living room of a killer. The same killer responsible for his mauled leg. The same killer who had hooked him countless times. The same killer who had caused countless tears.

 

“Y’er awfully polite, well-trained I take it?”

 

And it was a joke, Dwight could tell from the tone and up-shift of his voice. Am unsure one at that; Testing the waters. Dwight laughed, not at the awkwardness of the ordeal, but because it was actually funny. Funny because it was true. Dwight had actually been trained to react that way, the kind of way that was hospitable and caring to abusive customers or British scrappers that would tear him down at any occasion, any hint of weakness. Dwight kept his wrists firm now.

 

“Actually- I guess so, yeah.”

 

It wasn’t unfamiliar. He just had to smile and hope. Not too hard.

 

The Trapper was still staring down at him on the couch. Dwight could make out hints of green past red-stained white. It was a warm green, a kind green. Not the kind of Green Dwight was used to seeing when he messed up or exploded a generator.

 

Evan chuckled, satisfied in that same peculiar way.

 

“Great, ‘make’s things easier on us now doesn’t it?”

 

Dwight nodded. Laurie would have murdered the guy by now. Claudette would have permanently impaired his vision. And David would have.. He glanced away from Evan, steeling himself with a deep breath. The leather under his fingers was soft. Very soft. He ran them across the cushions and along the divoting on the arm. It wasn’t a foreign sensation, but one that was old. Familiar even. An echo of what Dwight once knew. So he savoured it, let himself slouch into the cushioning.

 

If he’d be here for a while, at least this place was well-furnished.

 

But the Trapper was still standing there, above him, jittery with his breath.

 

The killer sat down next to him, the couch noticeably sagging under his weight. Dwight cringed at the thought of his metal hooks tearing into the rich leather. He would have asked about it, but Dwight knew better than to mention it. Things were quiet, calm, a first for him.

 

“Yeah, I guess it does. This couch is pretty soft.”

 

Because he had nothing else to say. Didn’t know what to say. Not when this proximity usually meant his cleaver impaled in Dwight’s back. Of course he wanted to continue the conversation, but that was the easiest thing for him to express.

 

“Yeah, it’s right comfy now isn’t it? ‘Love’s taking a nap here every now in a once.”

 

They weren’t talking about much, but Dwight was fine with that. It was a nice distraction from what they both knew needed to be addressed. And Evan’s accent was rich, if Dwight had to place it, either Scottish or English. A blend of both to the point where he was unsure. Deep too, gravelly and hoarse in a way that left the hairs on his neck stiff.

 

Much nicer than any other English accent.

 

A cold wind filtered in through an opened window. One that looked out at the wild lawn of the infamous Myers house. Everybody knew that house. It was practically an urban legend. Dwight shivered at both the implication and frigid breeze. Myers lived next door. But that hardly mattered given the circumstances. He didn’t seem to be in danger, that much, anyway. But that was only from Evan. Being rushed inside had ensured that fact.

 

The small amount of harm caused by him had already been somewhat addressed. Evan would’ve had plenty of opportunities to slay him, and so there was no point worrying about it now. It didn’t seem like he was here to be slaughtered. Such was the purpose of the trials . Another gust disrupted his thoughts, along with a shiver. Being cold was a new sensation. Most of the locations were relatively moderate. It wasn’t something he needed to think about. Not in the slightest. But he still had his instincts from before the darkness. His legs quickly ducked and folded under his waist, attempting to preserve his own body heat. But that was a mistake. A fresh wave of pain radiated, Dwight whimpered.

 

Evan’s mask snapped towards him at the sound, along with a deep inhale. Carefully, Dwight inched his legs out from under his waist, careful to ensure that his injured leg did not brush up against anything. Getting blood on this leather was surely a sin. His bandages were starting to feel a bit damp, dirty. Needed to be changed. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, one that hugged him just a bit too close. Sitting next to him was like a furnace, but he expected no less from a man that size. Metal poked into Dwight’s side, but he was no longer cold.

 

“I’d close the window for ya now, but it’s after gettin a bit close in here. You’llmanage, right?”

 

Dwight nodded, leaning into the warmth. It was kind of pathetic, how much to cold affected him. But he toyed with the thought in his mind to understand it. Cold was what he felt being lifted off the hook by the appendages of the darkness. Cold was death. And he’d had enough.

 

Being this close though had its downsides. The kind that smeared blood and who-knows what over Dwight’s clothes. Suddenly, he was much less worried about getting the blood from his leg on the leather. If Evan was wearing his filthy overalls without a care in the world, his blood was less than a bother. It also smelled not the greatest, and so Dwight couldn’t help but twitch his nose slightly. Cooper and Decay. Sweat, too. The hypochondriac part of Dwight worried about blood-borne diseases, but those thoughts only haunted him, especially after who knows how long of being pierced by rusty and bloody hooks. He didn’t even know if they could catch diseases here in the first place. Too many unknowns, especially now as well.

 

“You’re really warm, I hate the cold.”

 

It was better than saying nothing, at least.

 

Dwight could both feel and hear the chuckle next to him, but it didn’t seem mocking. It seemed to be a laugh of understanding instead.

 

“See? I’ll take great care of ya there now, won’t I? Already got ya warm and everything.”

 

Dwight couldn’t help but blush at those words. While they held no trace of subtext in tone, the innuendo was clear. Intentful or not. He looked away from the Trapper, not wanting his blush the be seen. He took a few moments to steady his breath.

 

It was true. He was being cared for, and even if not exactly how he’d like it, it was still getting done. Somebody cared enough about him to snuggle with him. And then it hit Dwight. He was snuggling with Evan- No, the Trapper. He was in he realm of the killers. Dwight was literally on a couch with somebody who had eviscerated him many times before. This was not right. This was not healthy. Dwight glanced at the window once more. Easy to fast vault.

 

“Still cold there, boy?”

 

Evan’s tone was genuine and calming, as if the man already knew the answer and only intended to ascertain his willingness to care.

 

It disturbed Dwight now, Evan’s motivations couldn’t be good. It reminded Dwight of a horror movie, the kind were somebody was kept hostage in a room for who knows how long. Why else would he go through the trouble of practically kidnapping him?

 

Dwight picked at his fingernails, focusing on the pain in his leg to ground him. It was now just a dull ache, where metal teeth had once rendered flesh and bone. The faintest hints of red bloomed through his bandages. That pain provided reason. That pain was provided by the man keeping him warm.

 

When his leg brushed against the couch’s side, phantom pain travelled up his thigh. Dwight flinched somewhat, enough for Evan to notice. The man’s response was gruff, uttered out through the holes in his mask.

 

“Still hurtin ya? Sorry about that, I work pretty hard on them.”

 

It was weird that he sounded amused, proud even. It was weird for him to be in this situation in the first place.

 

Dwight sighed, honestly just tired.

 

“Yeah, stepping on a bear trap tends to do that.”

 

Another laugh emanated from Evan’s form.

 

“Gotchya, I’ll go call down doc now in a sec, if he ain’t busy working.”

 

And that made Dwight pause. Pause because of the fear coursing through him. The Trapper was one thing, with Dwight only being slightly comfortable due to the mercy shown. If the Doc was the same person he was thinking of, he’d rather deal with the pain.He hated the idea of confronting that lunatic, no part of him wanted to meet that man.

 

“Sure thing,” Dwight said, voice barely cracking.

 


	3. III - Herman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late chapter, I don’t really have any extraordinary excuses I’m just struggling to find the time to write and get inspiration. I’ll try my best to be more consistent.

It was laughable, how the entity parodied a suburban neighbourhood. Sure, the layout was fine, but the contents were something else entirely. A corrugated steel mansion, a decrepit suburban home, and a small hospital sat right next to each other on the broad side of the loop. Furthest from the campfire- more like hearth, at the centre. It wasn’t difficult for Dwight to figure out where they were headed, given the aesthetics of the home. The neon med-cross symbol flickered in the fog. This was it. Just like Lery’s Memorial. The doctor. A phantom tingle travelled up his leg.

 

Evan walked behind him, his form and shadow looming overhead. The front doors to the building were not typical, simply industrial hospital doors. Cross-hatched wire reinforced the glass window. Evan’s footsteps echoed against the overgrown concrete steps.Dwight didn’t reach out for the handle. Evan stood behind him. Waiting, almost.

Should he knock? Did the killers knock on each others door? The answer was beyond him, this situation was beyond him. At least he no longer felt a heartbeat, that was the only relief provided. It gave him something to ponder. Ponder because a thought popped into his mind. Could it have been related to intent? It would explain why he could no-longer hear it, the heartbeat conveyed intent. It had to, and it made sense. He wanted it to make sense, so that he could clutch to that missing sound like a comfort animal. He’d be safe. Oddly enough, so did Evan. From all of the trials, he knew that to be true. Especially fast at breaking pallets, Dwight had learned the hard way.

 

He’d be safe from the doctor, there’d be nothing to worry about. He’d be okay.

 

“How many years are we gunna be waitin’? Got lots’a time, love.”

 

It was a joke from Evan, but Dwight didn’t laugh. Silence crept in as a response. Evan grunted somewhat.

 

Taking the lead, the Trapper reached out to the doorknob.

 

“Here, there’s nothin to ‘im, not when I’m here, can’t pull nothin.”

 

Dwight nodded, not wanting to disappoint the man or get himself into trouble.

 

The metal doorknob was cold in his palm, it turned and opened with ease. Immediately, the scent of ozone wafted out of the house. It was wallpapered just like the office in the Doctor’s Realm. Decorated just like it too.

 

A loud booming voice caught him off guard.

 

“Anybody home? Im after dropping by and I needs a favour.”

 

Footsteps sounded from the ceiling, electricity crackled. Dwight grabbed onto the trappers arm, careful to lace his fingers around the metal to avoid scraping himself. It was the only comfort he could afford. It was all he could have really. If he had to think about it though, Evan cared about his wellbeing- somewhat, anyway. Such meant that if he knew the doctor to be a dangerous man, they wouldn’t be here. Dwight was rationalizing, as a way to both cope and distract himself from the inevitable meeting with the other killer.

 

Dwight could see the white tail of his overcoat trailing along him down the stairs. More crackles of electricity. Dwight could feel his hairs stand on end, both from anxiety and from static electricity. Here he comes.

 

Fluorescent light bounced off the metal contraptions latched onto his face. It was just as gruesome and cringeworthy as ever. There was madness in those eyes, but it seemed just a bit more civilized at the moment, just a bit. Just enough to not run full-force in the opposite direction. Dwight looked down at his nails and bit at them instead of keeping the eye-contact. It just wasn’t reasonable.

 

“Ohhh, look what the cat dragged in- both friend and foe. How are you doing, Evan?”

 

It was nice, to be ignored. He didn’t want to be addressed at the moment. Not yet.

 

Evan walked up to the doctor and gave him a punch on the arm. No anger followed, it was a playful gesture. One between men. It was disturbingly regular. But the doctor glanced at him- held his gaze. Assessed and diagnosed. Monitored. He flinched back.

 

“Im great, Herman. Just stopping by to introduce you to your new neighbour, among other things.”

 

The doctor’s forehead wrinkled, clearly showing curiosity. As much as he could with the clamps on his face. Definitely would have been a raised eyebrow if possible.

 

Evan. Herman. They both had names, they both used to be people then. As used to calling him The Doctor as Dwight was, Herman sounded about right. It was too amusing, thinking of their real names. He wanted to run back and joke with Meg about it- He stopped himself. That wouldn’t happen. Dwight frowned.

 

It was obvious now that Dwight was standing behind Evan. Inching himself slowly to put himself away from the Doctor. It definitely couldn’t have been polite.

 

“Oh- Hahaha, he’s a skittish one, isn’t he? How’d you snag a toy? The times I wished a trial wouldn’t end just so that I’d have something to do. I’m jealous, in all honesty.”

 

The doctor’s voice was every bit as cringe-inducing as his face. High notes blended down with baritones, undercut by an almost constant jittering static whistle. Just as bad as his laugh.

 

It was off-putting, that’s for sure. To be referred to as a toy. Definitely not the worst of outcomes, though. That’s not what he was focused on, nor was it the arcs of electricity across the Doctor. It was the question asked. Dwight was anticipating the answer. He wanted to know why and how he was abducted too. This would be vital information, if shared. His ears perked up, awaiting stimulus.

 

Evan laughed his gruff laugh and patted Herman on the shoulder.

 

“What else d’ya think would come from doing so well so often? I’d say now if you’d get a four-kill back to back as often as me, the big man upstairs would let you pick out one for yourself as well.”

 

The Doctor shook his head, letting out a discharge of electricity that danced along the walls with one of his insidious laughs. The same laugh that suddenly made him feel like his body was spasming uncontrollably after hundreds of volts passed through his body.

 

A prize. Dwight was a prize received for a killer who slaughtered them perfectly time and time and again. And he himself was part of the score that let himself be learned. The pain in his leg reminded him of that fact.

 

Herman shook his head, sighing somewhat.

 

“Evan, I have absolutely no clue how you do it. You’d figure the prey would figure out to look before they step. Assuming they think. Haha haha.”

 

Before the fog, he would have been offended. But he couldn’t, not now. Not when he was the guest in the home of a man who had literally killed him hundreds of times, sometimes in the most brutal ways possible. He couldn’t react, and so he bit his tongue. It wasn’t their fault, they weren’t dumb. It was just so hard all of the time. From his own experience, you couldn’t watch where you were walking all of the time, especially not when in a chase. It just took too much time.

 

Evan took a moment to respond, just enough of a moment as to where it was obviously contemplative.

 

“I’m sure they try their best, can’t beat me though.”

 

Dwight flushed, not from fear but from embarrassment. Evan had clearly just defended him, even if only implicitly. Couldn’t have been an accident, no. His heart raced, stomach knotted. He suddenly felt all-too shy. Dwight’s grip on Evan’s arm tightened, suddenly conscious of how Herman could react. Evan hadn’t been visibly offended, simply dismissive. There was nothing to react to. They seemed like friends anyway.

 

Dwight felt a strong hand pat at his hair, run it’s fingers through his hair. And Dwight wanted to preen at the comforting gesture. He was definitely multiple shades redder.

 

The Doctor gazed at both of them, recognition apparent in his malevolent eyes. Electricity flowed across his face, and Herman smirked, as much as the clamps would allow anyway.

 

It didn’t take long for Dwight to figure out what Herman was thinking. Hell, he had been thinking it, too.

 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Never figured you were the type, Evan. Might as well treasure what little gifts the darkness gives us, though, so I can understand it. Hahahaha, you’re a lucky one there- “

 

Herman peeked around Evan’s form to glance at Dwight.

 

“I didn’t quite catch your name there, prey.”

 

Prey. Worse than a toy.

 

Dwight cleared his throat, absolutely not allowing himself to stutter or cough while directly addressing one of the killers.

 

“It’s-“

 

Evan cut him off.

 

“The boy’s named Dwight. Quaint name, ain’t it?”

 

Herman giggled and leaned back against his wall, facing Evan now.

 

“Definitely.” Electricity arced.

 

Once more, Herman’s eyes locked with his. But Dwight did not shy away. While he may not have ascertained his own ability to speak for himself, a brief look of annoyance flashed on his face. He wasn’t weak enough as to where he couldn’t even introduce his own name. He wasn’t that much of a coward. He wouldn’t dare act on the annoyance though. Sheep in a lion’s den and all.

 

“Anyways, as I was saying. You’re a lucky one, Dwight. Most of my coworkers wouldn’t want a toy to be ‘treasured’, they’d most likely just use you as a different kind of toy, likely a chew toy or maybe even just a guinea pig. Test animal, whatever it may be. So don’t be ungrateful to Evan here. That’ll make me angry. And I’m sure you know what I’m like when I’m angry.”

 

Dwight was sure that he was hurting Evan know with how tight his grip was on Evan’s bicep. He couldn’t help it, images of burned eyes and smoke filling his mind. He wanted to leave, wanted to get away from these people. It wasn’t safe here, he needed to run.

 

Dwight looked frantically between Evan and Herman.

 

Evan’s expression was hidden by the mask, but his grumbling was not.

 

The trapper’s words were stern, but not unfriendly.

 

“Don’t scare the boy now, Herman. He’s been very obedient and pleasant so far.”

 

And that did the trick. The room stopped spinning. For now anyway.

 

Herman giggled and shook his head.

 

“Sorry about that there Dwight, I rarely get to speak with your side, so I had to say my piece.”

 

Dwight nodded and blinked blankly. He could understand it. Wanting to be protective of a friend, that is. Not that a hulking killer would need protection from a small and somewhat chubby young adult almost half his size. Definitely not. It was just one of those things that even if he didn’t understand, he’d smile and nod. Or more like grimace and nod, but the point got across. He wouldn’t hurt Evan or be ungrateful.

 

Herman continued with his unsettling voice.

 

“What was that favor you needed, Evan? Hope it lets me get to know Dwight here a little more. I don’t meet new people very often.”

 

Evan’s hand landed on Dwight’s shoulder, arm curling around his rib. His embrace grew tight, possessive. Just a bit uncomfortable, but not enough as to where he’d complain. With a swift motion, he pulled up Dwight’s pant leg to reveal the red-stained bandages.

 

“I knows you’re not that kinda doctor, but if ya could hear patch him up for me that’d be great.”

 

Herman nodded and motion for them to follow him further down a hallway into his home. It was surprisingly similar to the realm he hated. Enough to put him on edge. He recognized this place, it was just like being back in a trial. But it was different now, because the killers now seemed to pose no threat. These two anyway. He had nothing to worry about. He steeled in his breath. This was fine.

 

Winding corners brought him to what looked like a small medical room. A black fabric bed stood above a counter, a bright light shining from above. Herman’s breath was jittery, excited almost. Evan followed close behind standing behind him like a sentinel.

 

“I never get to use this room. Even though I’m not an injury doctor, I have gotten my degrees so I’ve learned how to handle most medical scenarios. I’ll need you to hop up there on the bed, okay?”

 

Dwight nodded, electricity arced. He followed the instructions, hopping up onto the black upholstery and letting his legs fall over the side. Herman bent down to take a closer look. Dark leathery hands slowly unwrapped the bandages. Evan watched intently. With each brush of skin, Dwight could feel a slight tingle of electricity.

 

The injury was grisly, reddened flesh twisted and rendered enough to see bone. The kind of injury that hissed in pain when exposed to the open air. Tears stung at his eyes, but he blinked them away before either could notice. After assessing the damage, Herman looked up at him from below.

 

“Ahh, this damage is severe. Let me guess, stepped in one of Evan’s contraptions?”

 

It was shameful, it was embarrassing, but he did.

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

And he left it at that, ignoring the rudeness from earlier.

 

“I’m surprised you’re still able to move your leg, let alone be conscious through the pain. The damage is significant, in line with when Evan sharpens the teeth to induce bleeding. I’ll definitely need to perform a reconstructive procedure. Local anesthetic will likely be necessary, don’t worry though. You’re in capable hands.”

 

Herman looked to Evan for approval, and approval he received. He hummed in a satisfied manner, silently giving his permission for the procedure to continue.Not being asked for his own permission didn’t bother him, it was the least of his concern. He had never been good with doctors and general medicine. It just wasn’t his strong suit.

 

“Leave a scar though, let me see the mark.”

 

And Dwight paled, because leaving a scar normally involved pain. The marking part didn’t bother him, but the pain did. He had experienced too much of it to even be comfortable with any amount anymore. Herman’s eyes light up in that maddening were, a current visibly flowing between the metal filaments in his face.

 

“Oh, Evan, I understand, trust me I do. Hahahaha, it won’t be a problem. No harm will come to your boy, but I’ll leave the trap-marks. I’ll even let you watch. How’s that sound?”

 

Evan rapped his fingers on a dark metal cabinet. His response was low, growled, and satisfied.

 

“That sounds great. Anything to make him better.”

 

Dwight hated needles.

 


	4. IV - Anasthetic

The anaesthetic was not delivered as professionally as the operating theatre seemed to be. It was a small green bottle that Herman mixed up in his hand. Definitely not medical grade. Before it was delivered, Dwight glimpsed the faintest glance of pink vapours. He didn’t have the chance to give it much thought as he would have wanted, as Evan soon positioned him on the cool metal table. The needle’s prick was sharp, enough for him to jolt somewhat.

 

And he went numb, but he closed his eyes. As used to it as he was, gore was not his favourite thing to witness. Sharp tools cut past flesh, and blood flowed across his skin. Bits of metal were removed piece by piece. Clang after clang, they hit a metal tray. Dwight took a deep breath and focused on his breathing. One in, one out. Things would be fine. But it wasn’t only his breathing, it was the concentrated wheezing he also focused on. The same wheezing that preceded the sensation of thousands of volts. It was not the kind of killer breathing he enjoyed. He wished it was muffled, he couldn’t relax with that god-awful sound.

 

After the surgery was complete, he was still groggy as a side-effect, even though it was only local. Lingering dizziness made him stay on the table even after the last stitch was sewn. The raw pain mellowed to an unpleasant ache, but most of the pain had left. The lights above were just too bright, and Evan’s breathing was just too loud under his mask.

 

Dwight sat up, and he wished he hadn’t. His head bobbed to he side as his vision closed in and he lost balanced. The blood rushing to his head made him gasp. A strong arm caught him roughly by the shoulders.

 

“There, there. Take it easy now.”

 

Little nothings to calm him down. Almost patronizing, almost. Just close enough to plant seeds of annoyance.

 

The Doctor glanced at both of them expectantly, but more so at Evan.

 

His voice was just a bit too gleeful in just the worst way.

 

“So, Evan, guess you owe me a favour now, don’t you?”

 

The Trapper gruffly sighed.

 

“Depends. How’d the procedure go?”

 

Herman’s palm opened up, ever so slightly sparking.

 

“Great. He’ll be fine if he keeps the wound clean. I’ve used minimum stitching to promote the formation of scar tissue. Enjoy. Those traps you make are very nasty, I can see why you perform well.”

 

It’s like he wasn’t even there, insignificant. Almost like before. Almost. And so he cleared his throat, letting it be known that he had something to say. Just as the words were about to leave his tongue, they retreated under the menacing figures of both taller men. They were uttered out meekly, instead of the confidence he was looking for.

 

“Thank you for operating on me, anything else I should do to help me heal?”

 

The Doctor was forced to look at him now, unable to dismiss the otherwise insignificant drivel. Herman’s nostrils flared, but Dwight wasn’t sure with what emotion. You couldn’t tell, really.

 

“Keep off of it while the few stitches heal, if they split, then come back here. Wouldn’t want my hard work ruined now would we?”

 

The Trapper interjected, hastily.

 

“Or my prize that I worked so hard for.”

 

The Doctor sniffed.

 

“Well yes, that too.”

 

Dwight zoned out after that, as much as he could in his daze. It wasn’t easy to ignore the menacing figures who’s very image set his blood pressure rising, but he could only listen to small talk for so long. Nothing they talked about caught his ear, nothing more important than how he had been a prize. That was likely pertinent to his situation. But he didn’t know how he could use that yet, didn’t know if it’s potential importance.

 

And they stopped talking with nothing more than a reciprocated nod. The Trapper glanced over at him, eyes assessing his healed leg. Dwight’s pant leg had been cut at the thigh to clear room for the incision, something that was unfortunate but necessary. Even though he doubted any of the killers would judge his fashion choices, it lingered at the back of his mind. He was used to it after all, expected it really.

 

“Well, we’ve got you patched up now, time to be heading home before it gets dark. It’s a lot safer for you.”

 

Dwight nodded because it made sense. Of course this place wouldn’t be safe at night, expecting anything else was surely foolish. With the Trapper in the lead, he lead Dwight through a series of blue-painted walls and towards a set of double doors. An emergency exit light flickered above.

 

“I’ve known doc for a while now, his house is like a maze so this is the easiest we’ll get out.”

 

It was like a maze, twisting corridors and dead ends and windows he wanted to vault. Almost like he was back in a trial. Dwight’s breath audibly seized in his throat. Evan’s strong hands drew him close and rubbed at his upper back. The Trapper understood. Or pretended to, at least. Dwight stepped ahead from Evan and out from his hold, eager to escape the musty and electric air. Evan stopped him though, physically with a grab that again caught his breath in his throat.

 

Leaving had been a mistake. What did the Trapper want.

 

The gruff voice soon filled in he blanks.

 

“Don’t be rude now, boy, thank the man for helping ya.”

 

And there he stood, wide maddening eyes glowing bright from around the corner. Dwight hadn’t been sure how long the doctor had been present, but without the heartbeat it was hard to tell. He took the lack of thumping as a good thing for him. Momentary safety at least.

 

Thanking the man proved easier than prior instances. The doctor had indeed helped him, stopped the pain too. Dwight grazed his fingers along the dull pink marks on his legs, getting a feel for their topography. The doctor did help, like it or not.

 

“Thank you, Herman.”

 

A sparking laugh in return.

 

“No problem, Dwight.”

 

A killer using his name felt weird. He didn’t like it, not yet. In all honesty he preferred Evan’s endearments instead of his actual identity.

 

Now they left, the door opening and letting the few rays of twilight filter in through the growing fog. The sky was that hazy orange-pink colour, the kind that induced the release of melatonin. He liked the sunset. Walking back to Evan’s abode, his neck craned to gaze. There was a moon hanging heavy in the fog, it’s brilliance somewhat eerie. It almost hid in the corner of the sky l, away from the sun.

 

Dwight almost screamed when his leg caught in a root. All that came out though was a yelp. Before his mind could instruct him to look down, his blood chilled. But it was not a trap, but he still paled from the fright.

 

Evan looked over at him, expression concerned. From above his mask, Dwight could tell his brow was furrowed from the wrinkles forming and moving.

 

After a deep breath, he rubbed at his bare arms. Not too chilly, definitely not warm though. Cold enough to form fog, but that was it. Still, goosebumps pricked his skin. Likely from both his fright along with his body’s general confusion. Maybe an effect of the anesthetic.

 

Dwight glanced down the road, a warehouse and white-painted farmhouse past the Myer’s house. Nobody was out and about, but Dwight knew that was probably for the best. He didn’t have the constitution for any of that at the moment. Not yet anyway.

 

As Evan held open the door, he laughed and said.

 

“Welcome back, home, that is.”

 

He was glad to be back amongst the ornate furniture and corrugated steel. It wasn’t comforting at first, but it was much preferred to the musty blue ozone. Dwight removed his shoes and placed them on the red mat. It was simple etiquette he had ignored until now. He’d have done the same in his old apartment. No reason not to now. His white socks carried him over to a couch. Dwight yawned, the stretch sore but not unpleasant. That dull ache still resided in his leg. And it probably would for a while. So he moved it gingerly alongside him on the cool leather.

 

“You can sit with me, Evan.”

 

And Dwight smiled. Smiled for the relief that was a lack of bitter pain. It raised his mood.

 

A gruff laugh.

 

“Ha! You think I wouldn’t?”

 

Evan practically fell onto the couch beside him. The leather dipper down, causing Dwight to adjust his position.

 

“How long have you known Herman?”

 

He wanted to know more about these things, the inner workings of the other side. Simple curiosity would stave off boredom.

 

“Oh, It’s hard to keep track of time in here but ever since his house just appeared on the block. It wasn’t always that big, you know.”

 

Dwight’s ears perked up. This was interesting. So the house just appeared, alongside the doctor. It also wasn’t the same size. Growth was possible then. How about you then, Evan.

 

The response was not as immediate as Dwight would have expected in a normal conversation. Hesitant, almost.

 

“I’d rather not get into specifics, but my home was not as large as it is now. Lots of hard work.”

 

Hard work being the merciless slaughter of him and his friends and countless others. Evan had been there since day one, Dwight never got to see him struggle as a killer. Evan was very experienced by the time Dwight was dropped into the realm. He stopped that train of thought. Unproductive. It was the cause of a slight frown that he quickly dismissed. Not the time.

 

Dwight smiled as he spoke, playfully curious. Knowing though, not to cross any limits.

 

“How big was it?”

 

At least it made Evan laugh. That was a good aspect. At least he was amused. That was his point now after all. If he entertained and was useful to him, Dwight figured he was safe. He started thinking about these things. It was only rational that if he was desired out of everyone in his group, and that it was not just bad luck, he was liked. If he was liked, and protected as he had been before, nothing bad would happen as long as he behaved. It didn’t seem too hard so far, but Dwight didn’t linger on that though. No harm done yet, nothing to worry about.

 

“You know that god-damned shack that appears in every trial?”

 

Dwight nodded, intimately aware of its many permutations from running its course. The most efficient spot to run.

 

“That used to be my home, when I first got here.”

 

It shocked Dwight enough for him to forget his prior train of thought completely.

 

Not even their cabins were that small. But it was curious, sad, too. He chose to ignore the thought of how much ‘work’ was required to reward him with his current home. This apparent system of work and reward was even more curious. It made him wonder what other kinds of things they could be rewarded with, thinking back to his own situation.

 

“Wow, it’s definitely not that small anymore.”

 

He didn’t really think before he spoke, leading to the painfully obvious statement. A hand stretched out around his shoulder, pulling him close into his personal warmth. Just a bit awkward, but it made Dwight think. Perhaps he just needed somebody to talk to. Sure, there were other killers, but they clearly weren’t the most stable of people. That definitely had to be it. Couldn’t be anything else. Simple loneliness, the worst emotion.

 

“Trust me, ain’t nothing small about me.”

 

And then Dwight laughed out of the unexpected but humorous innuendo. It genuinely caught him off guard, because he didn’t expect the man’s sense of humour to be so forward.

 

Evan gauged his reaction, took note of the slight blush on Dwight’s cheeks. Definitely receptive. It would make things easier.

 

“Wow- That’s just, didn’t expect that kind of humour from you.”

 

Dwight laughed softly once more.

 

“I can give you more if you’d like.”

 

And he didn’t laugh this time, simply blushed. It was the kind of thing he dreaded upon first being called pet, that the Trapper had wanted him here for different reasons. And he had ignored that possibility, until now. Until he was sat next to him with an arm around his shoulder while Evan practically whispered innuendo into his ear. The bad part was that Dwight really didn’t mind. But he rationalized it. He liked masculinity, and Evan was definitely muscular and large. Simple biology. It would explain the heat in his belly. He had been known to like Englishmen after all.

 

“Jokes? Sure. I just can’t believe anything that’s happening. This is all just crazy honestly.”

 

Evan let out a sigh, not of annoyance but of relief.

 

“Yeah, I didn’t believe him when he told me one of you could be mine.”

 

The question was blurred out before he could stop himself.

 

“Why’d you pick me?”

 

The trapper’s grip grew tighter, just close to uncomfortable. His hand guided Dwight’s head into the crook of his shoulder.

 

“Shhh, that’s not important now. Herman told me you’d be needing some rest, to recover from both the procedure and the anaesthetic. You can take a nap here now. I’ll bring you to bed once you fall asleep.”

 

Dismissial. Pure dismissal. He wouldn’t be told anytime soon, but he guessed it wouldn’t really matter. Not now anyway. He had still learned a few valuable things, so the day wasn’t a waste at least. Not a waste in that he could now walk on his leg, albeit with a limp, and the pain had muted itself considerable. That was definitely a good aspect of the day.

 

“Herman told me the anaesthetic would take a while to wear off, and that you’d be a bit fatigued. Hush now, and sleep.”

 

And he closed his eyes. Dwight really was tired. He didn’t have a reason to get up. So he slept in the Trapper’s embrace. His dreams were pleasant enough, the warmth around him, comforting.

 


	5. V - Tiles

Dwight woke to the sound of singing. Not the effervescent and flowery melodies of a woodland princess, but a deep humming tone that was definitely masculine. He didn’t know the song, but from the lyrics- laced between hummed choruses, used antiquated expression. It had to be old, the kind of old that pre-dated classic Americana expression. It was rife with that English accent too, a trademark of Evan.

 

Evan. That’s right. Dwight bolted up, suddenly remembering the circumstances. Upon lifting his face from the cool leather cushioning, his cheeks were blushed with red sleep-marks. His hair was tousled by sleep and a dried splotch of drool crusted the cushion. Out like a light, but for how long? Sleep still clouded his cognition, so it wasn’t easy to place. There weren’t any time-keeping devices in the realm either, which didn’t make it any easier. He shrugged it off though. It didn’t really matter.

 

Grounding his arms into the cushion, Dwight attempted to raise himself from the horizontal position. It worked- partly.While his muscles strained from rest, his arms were still half-asleep. The sudden lack of strength surprised him enough to inspire a yelp. The saccharine melody ceased. Part of him wanted to hear more.

 

Heavy footsteps approached the couch. Dwight half-expected Evan to be angry, but he couldn’t place why.

 

“Finally up, eh?”

 

And he wasn’t angry, not if the calm baritone portrayed the right intentions. That was good. Dwight didn’t want to deal with that. He couldn’t handle it really, on top of coming to terms with everything else. His sleep had been sound for the most part. He felt well-rested. And hungry. Dwight felt hungry.

 

“I’m hungry.” He blurted out, mostly from surprise.

 

Evan laughed at the randomness of it.

 

“Guess yer honest, at least.”

 

But that’s not why he said it. He wasn’t demanding food. He was just surprised. That empty ache was unfamiliar to him. It had been so long since his body felt the need to eat. They didn’t need to back at camp, under the entity’s clutch with the other survivors. It probably thought not needing to eat was a gift, much like never needing to shower or practice hygiene. But it wasn’t a matter of convenience like how they woke up refreshed from a trial. There was something dehumanizing about not having to eat. He missed the taste and texture of good food on his tongue. Now that he could feel it again, he craved it.

 

“I didn’t need to eat before. I’m just..”

 

Dwight’s voice trailed off, mostly from his nervousness about not knowing what to say. Evan piped up.

 

“Good to know then. Now I may not be the best cook in the area, but I’ll do my best. Anything in particular you’d like?”

 

Thoughts of food pummelled his thought. There were too many options, too many opportunities to try something again for the first time in a while. He’d been here for so long that flavours only ghosted his brain with a half-familiarity that was more like a hint than an actual memory.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Surprise me?”

 

Through his half-lidded eyes, Dwight could see Evan standing there behind the couch. His mask was off. His mask was off. Dwight stared awkwardly too long, gazing at the wickedly scarred face and just wondering why. Why was he marred like that? Why was he handsome all the same? And Evan noticed too, shying away almost. As if he knew that Dwight was judging his objectively damaged visage. But Evan didn’t mention it.

 

“Sure ‘bout that? Amanda hates my cookin, say’s it’s right old-fashioned and just bizarre. She’s probably right, honestly.From what she’s taught me though, I know a few modern recipes for ya.”

 

Amanda. He didn’t know her. The thought made him wonder, trying to assign it to one of the female killers. Probably a fruitless attempt, since he could just ask. But he didn’t want to. Shyness, probably.

 

He didn’t feel comfortable requesting anything, still fearing crossing over a line, but an unfortunately audible stomach growl gave away his true need. Dwight sighed with a smile, nervousness dissipated from his pure desire to just eat.

 

“How about some scrambled eggs?” Dwight asked.

 

Evan nodded and smiled, Dwight ignored the scarred lips and crooked nose. Those didn’t matter. It didn’t change that his bone structure beneath all of that was masculine, strong-jawed and defined. He really was a sucker for distinguished features. The thought made him blush. He just woke up, that was why. It was also the reason for the tightness and pulse in his pants. There was no way Evan could notice though, not a chance. It wasn’t foreign to him, these kinds of feelings. Nor was trying to ignore them. It also wasn’t the fact that he was gay. He was fine and comfortable with that part. But there was just something, the kind of something that made him blush like a schoolgirl and point his feet inwards when close to Evan. Dwight could name it if he tried, but that’d be humiliating. He’d ignore it for now. Potentially reciprocated, but not worth pursuing. Evan just saw him as entertainment. Probably homophobic, too.

 

“Sure, I’ve heard of those. Normally I like’em poached. How about some creamed potatoes on the side?”

 

Amanda was definitely right. Poached eggs and creamed potatoes didn’t sound too modern. He had to wonder if it was actually good though. If it had been anybody else, he’d have said no. That’d be rude though. Couldn’t be rude to a host, not after everything. It was the least he could do to thank Evan for bringing him to Herman. He’d play nice, it’s probably what he had to do to survive. This was one of those thoughts, the kind that sparked a dark spiral down into panic. He sniffed it out. Not worth thinking about yet. Just be nice.

 

“Sure thing, Evan.”

 

And even smiled, the kind of smile that was infectious. Dwight genuinely smiled back. He couldn’t not, not when Evan was obviously overjoyed. His prior anxiety dissolved. Evan was a lot nicer without his mask. It was like he was a different person. And that’s what he’d believe. That was a good way to justify the fluttering in his stomach.

 

Evan left the living room, passing under a corrugated steel archway and into a luxurious kitchen. Dwight couldn’t see much over the back of the couch, but every appliance seemed ornate in an old-fashioned way that just emanated luxury.

 

From the kitchen, he called out.

 

“There’s a room on the first right from the grand stairwell. It’s yours. Attached to that is a washroom. Y’can shower there now to freshen up for breakfast. Everything should be fully stocked, our Keeper replenishes it whenever it’s opened.”

 

It was interesting, to say the least. Learning about the intricacies of the killer’s realm was utterly fascinating. Having a room was nice, a couch could only be so comfortable. But there was something else, something else begging at his mind besides the anticipation of a somewhat good breakfast. A shower, the hot trickle of water streaming down his body, coaxing the dirt and stress from his skin and muscles. It sounded almost as good as a home-cooked meal.But Dwight took his time getting up from the couch, not wanting the rush of blood to throw him off balance.

 

He took his time treading up the burgundy carpeted stairwell. Took his time to run his hands up the ornate oak bannister. It was cool to the touch, too. Just a bit dusty though, which made sense given that Evan was probably this manor’s only inhabitant.

 

Dwight’s room was better than anything he had ever had before. Even when he was still living with his parents, he had a measly upstairs bedroom, and even the size of his dingy apartment in total, was smaller than the entire bedroom in which he stood. Beautiful tapestried curtains hung from ornate wooden beams, definitely velvet. And his single bed just looked so plush. It was like being in an old Victorian home, one that definitely had a bit of money.

 

He couldn’t wait to see the washroom.

 

The tiles were almost opalescent in their whiteness. The tub was a beautiful ceramic with bright brass fixtures. The same wooden panelling coated the walls, with a large bay window above the bathtub. Behind a tiled divider, a toilet stood next to the shower’s entrance. It was surprisingly up to date, considering the home’s prior furnishings. Spacious, too, with nozzles that could spray from multiple angles.

 

There were velvety red towels hanging to his right, there for when he leapt out of the shower. Part of him worried about getting water all over the fancy fixtures, but with each step he noticed the gradual sloping of the floor. Eyes following the curve, he spotted a drain. So it was one of those kinds of bathrooms, were you could splash around without the worry of flooding. His childhood home had been like that, and he had been ever so eager to splash around as a child. Dwight liked to swim, he really did. The bathtub was calling him, too, but a shower would be quicker.

 

There was only one thing left to do, he couldn’t just stare forever. Dwight undressed himself, hyper aware that the tiled divider only spared his lower half from the bright bay-window. But the sunlight probably reflected the wrong way too. Another layer of defence from prying eyes. He doubted anybody would look though, he wouldn’t flatter himself that much. The air was cool against his pale thighs.

 

The brass knob in the shower was cold, and he honestly didn’t know which way to turn the damn thing. Taking a wild guess, he turned it to the left for hot water and stepped inside the spray. Dwight almost moaned audibly at the sensation. The water was just a bit too hot, but he honestly didn’t care. He let the streams caress his skin and work the stress knotting his muscles. While there was no actual dirt on his body, he let the years of built up emotional grime just rinse of his body. He didn’t know why, but it was a cleansing experience. It meant that he didn’t have to be caked in dirt anymore, that he wouldn’t be in another trial. He wouldn’t let any other thoughts creep into his mind and see seeds of anxiety. It wasn’t the time for that. Dipping his head under the spray, his dark hair wetted and clumped together. Running his fingers through it, he let his nails massage at his scalp. God, it had been so long. For a moment, he just closed his eyes and breathed, definitely a few minutes of stillness passed by. Just like the steam against the tiles, the urgency of returning to the breakfast table evaporated, forgot just like that.

 

He thought about everything that had happened lately, the sudden transition to an area in which he didn’t have to fear the Trapper or the pain he’d obviously inflict. He felt safe, protected by Evan almost. And Dwight liked Evan, the guy was exactly his type. British, strong, old-fashioned masculinity. He felt a flutter in his stomach that wasn’t the pattering of water on his abdomen. Instead, it was a precursor to the warmth that grew into a throbbing.

 

The kind of throbbing of an erection. Dwight blushed, even while in his own company. He hadn’t just woken up, he couldn’t blame it on morning wood anymore. His hand travelled down to the growing member and laced his fingers though the curls of dark hair. He wanted to shave it, but that could come later. What he thought of now, was the thick biceps of the Trapper as he ran his palm up his cock. Brushing over his head with a finger, he shivered at the sensation of both the digit and the hot water against his sensitive skin. He was already doing it so he lost most of his prior mental inhibitions. He could relax in the shower by himself, with his own thoughts.

 

He liked the Trapper, liked his muscles and strong jawline. Dwight’s cock ached as he imagined if Evan had a treasure trail or no. God, he was so attracted to a killer of all people, attracted to his messed up face and attracted to the danger. Evan definitely had a huge cock, that just had to be true. The thought made him shiver in pleasure as he picked up the pace of his stroking. He also imagined, of course, that Evan liked it rough. It had to be true, and that he was somewhat of a sadist. That look on his face when Dwight had stepped into his trap was predatory in all the right ways.

 

Dwight took his idle hand and brought it between his ass. He circled his entrance with the point of his finger, feeling himself clench. It had been so long since he had done this, so long since he had felt these urges. He wouldn’t let the last time ruin this moment. As he dipped his finger inside himself, he imagined that it was the rough calloused digit of Evan. That it was The Trapper fingering him open in the shower. God, he wished it was. He needed it right now, the feeling of a warm hard cock spreading him open and filling him up. It was like all of his pent up sexual repression was pouring itself out at once.

 

Dwight closed his eyes as he rubbed up against that spot-

 

“Hrrngh,” he groaned out at the sudden and intense pleasure.

 

It felt so damn good, so he kept at it. Another finger found itself at his entrance, tucking alongside the first and prodding at his prostate. No, this wasn’t as big as he imagined Evan. Another finger. Three now, yes, that was it. Leaning himself against the tiled wall for support, he scissored his fingers around as he stroked his cock.

 

He imagined Evan here with him, gripping at him painfully and playing with his flesh like a toy. Evan would push inside of him all at once- mimicked with a sudden push inside- and fuck him with only a regard for his own pleasure. Dwight whimpered at the though, drooling slightly down the ceramic. If only, he told himself, if only. He imagined the grip on his hips as the larger man pistoned into him, the tickle of Evan’s hair against his perineum. That idea was appealing to him, even more so than how good his grunts of pleasure would have been.

 

When Dwight imagined what it would feel like to be have Evan ejaculate inside him, he finished himself off against the wall. Palm stroking wildly, he muffled a cry with a groan as he shot white stripes on the opalescent tiles. Panting heavily, he stroked himself through the orgasm, smiling to himself. He needed that. Dwight let his breathing quiet to its regular pace, stepping out of the way so the evidence of his transgression could swirl down the drain.

 

He fucked up. That was a mistake. He shouldn’t have done it. Pleasure turned to turmoil as he began crying. This wasn’t okay, he wanted to be back home with his family.Masturbating in the shower to his killer was just fucked up. It didn’t matter if he had been nice at one point. The sudden desire came through him in waves. He just wanted to be out of this realm. But he couldn’t, and he knew that, so he let the water wash away his desire to leave. It would be a useless thing to hold onto. He couldn’t refuse Evan though, he’d have to accept the hospitality.

 

Steeling himself straight, Dwight held his eyes closed and willed away the tears. Things would be fine. He was probably better off than his fellow survivors. They’d probably kill for this right now. He’d be thankful, that was a good path. As quickly as he had started crying, he had stopped. It’s not like one could tell anyway, as the red puffiness could easily blend in with the hot water splotches across his body. Evan wouldn’t be able to tell. The thought made him pause. Evan. Breakfast

 

Fuck.

 

Quickly reaching for the knob, he turned off the water and exited the shower. Not caring if he dripped onto the floor, due to the sloped tiles, he turned to find his towel. But it was in Evan’s hand. A look of concern was on his face. A look of embarrassment was on Dwight’s. It was shocking how oblivious the trials had made him. He knew he was by a killer that normally provided a heartbeat, so he hadn’t even thought to look behind him anxiously. It was a weird dance, between obliviousness and hyper-paranoia when up against a stealth opponent.

 

Evan just stood there, holding the towel and obviously trying to avert his gaze from Dwight’s middle half. Dwight flushed redder than the hot water had made his skin. But he could snatch the towel and curse in surprise, he just couldn’t.

 

Evan was the first to speak.

 

“Err, I just heard noises and you’d been in there for a while so I just thought that maybe you fell and hit your head or something. I forgot to knock, didn’t I?”

 

Dwight simply nodded and strongly resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands. Calmly, he took back the towel and hastily wrapped it around his waist.

 

“Oh, no. It just that I haven’t been in a warm shower for such a long time, I lost track of time, that’s all.”

 

Evan smiled, everything was back to normal.

 

“Not a problem. Breakfast is in the oven, I put it there to keep it warm. Glad you enjoyed yourself.”

 

And Dwight paused because of his words. Were they supposed to insinuate? How long had he been watching? He didn’t need to know why he liked that thought.


	6. VI - Eggs & Potatoes

 

Whether purposeful or not, Evan soon left Dwight alone in the bathroom to gather his thoughts. And gather his thoughts he did. There was no way Evan had just stood there and watched, he’d have to have made at least some sound of surprise when he entered- but he hadn’t in the first place. It was an anxious thing that crept up on him.  Would he be kicked out now that Evan realized what kind of guy he was? It didn’t seem improbable, considering his apparent age and era of thinking. Morals were different back then. 

 

But at the same time, he had been chosen. Surely whatever the cause of this abduction would override his now blatant sexuality. Dwight’s mind scoured back to the shower, had he spoken Evan’s name out loud? He wasn’t sure, couldn’t be certain. Maybe Evan wouldn’t jump to the obvious conclusion. His thoughts were quelled by a voice adjacent the door.

 

“I’ll be downstairs when you’re dressed. The closet here should have all the clothes you’re used to. No rush.”

 

And he used that thought to distract himself. His closet in ‘his’ room would have his clothing, and his mind wandered. Wandered to the possibility that his wardrobe would be the same from the camp. The entity was weird with how it rewarded survivors. It was usually just entertainment and clothing. Entertainment as in trinkets they’d find or ones that would randomly appear in their respective cabins. Clothing, as in their wardrobes of costumes and clothing of many patterns and styles. He hoped to at least find his sweatpants in there. Those were always comfortable.

 

He didn’t have to panic about being seen masturbating in the shower. It was nothing compared to the pain and agony of trials. He was being ridiculous. Things would be fine.

 

A deep breath and it was certain.

 

Dwight dried himself off with the towel, a bright red one. Softer than anything he could have ever afforded back in the real world. He frowned, rubbing it against his dark hair. The sensation of friction against his scalp was relaxing at the very least. He brought the towel down his body then, humming to himself a song he remembered from the radio. Dwight sighed as he patted off his inner-thigh, but stopped himself. That had already been taken care of. Breakfast awaited him so he did not linger.

 

All of the furniture was ornate. To the point of luxury. It didn’t feel real to Dwight, reminding him of an old-fashioned Victorian movie. The knobs on the dresser were gilded brass, carved with the motif of a lion.

 

And he opened the knob to the dresser, ignoring the chill of cold air on wet skin. It was all there, everything he had ever been rewarded with since his plunge into the fog. Shirts of various colours, sweaters that fight a bit too tight, and jeans all the same. Sweatpants and red ones too. Everything was there that he could remember. Rummaging through the closet, he found the dark navy Christmas sweater and he laughed. Even his ugly Christmas sweater was there. It meant something to him. It made him remember sitting around a frosty campfire with his friends- and he paused. Ignored the expected thought. It didn’t matter. Never did. They didn’t care, never had. Weak link. Always had been.

 

Dwight pushed his face against the fabric, breathing in his own smell. It calmed him. Those thoughts didn’t matter anymore. He was about to go eat breakfast for the first time in ages.

 

Choosing to wear his sweatpants and blue t-shirt, Dwight dressed himself in the vanity mirror. He didn’t take time to admire just how clean he looked, even though it was certainly distracting. He couldn’t remember he last time he was this clean. Breakfast. He had breakfast. Mind-wandering could wait. Scrambled eggs and creamed potatoes. Not too bad.

 

Dwight made his way down the ornate hallways briskly, fast enough to not quite be considered running. Curtains fluttered in a slight breeze, bringing in the soft scent of a meadow and forest.

 

Evan was waiting for him in the kitchen. It took longer than he would have liked to navigate through the mansion’s halls. At least he didn’t look angry.

 

“Ah- finally Dwight, you’re here.”

 

But there was no malice, only a smile. How it should be. The larger man pulled out an oak chair and motioned for Dwight to take a seat. So he did. It was more comfortable than a dinner chair should have been- carved to conform to his body and provide maximum comfort. Pretty enjoyable, actually.

 

“Yeah, took a while to find my way back. This mansion is really pretty, everything is so well-detailed.”

 

Evan’s smile turned open-lipped, teeth on display.

 

“Yeah, you like it? Took a while to make t this nice, lot of work to keep up with though. I’ll grab your breakfast now. Yer gunna love it.”

 

Dwight hopes he would. He doubted the food would be bad, and even if it was he felt like he could eat a horse. Hunger would overcome his usual pickiness. His diet pre-realm had not been too varied. Pizza and things from his chain alongside the basics from a corner store. 

 

It smelled good at least, the aroma of eggs and potatoes wafting out into the dining area. Dwight savoured that smell, and groaned, food smelt just so much better than he remembered. He couldn’t imagine what it tasted like.

 

Evan chuckled to himself, pasting the food in front of him.

 

“And for your drink?” Evan asked.

 

Dwight was delighted to answer.

 

“Water’s fine! Thank you for the hospitality haha.”

 

It didn’t take too long for him to return with a crystal glass brimmed with water.

 

“Don’t worry about it. ‘Least I could do, huh?”

 

Dwight simply nodded his head and took the utensils in hand.

 

The first bits elicited a moan. The kind of mosh that came from delightfully good food. The flavour was just so hearty and filling, with some hint of seasoning Dwight couldn’t place. So much better than he had ever remembered, something he didn’t know how he did without.

 

Evan simply stared, shocked almost at the sounds.

 

Next were the potatoes. Dwight never appreciated starch until now, and just how filling it could be. The food was unimaginable. It made him forget about his prior embarrassment and transgression.

 

“I’m guessing y’er not too fond, eh?”

 

And Dwight laughed, a laugh full of forkfuls of creamed potatoes. He quickly clamped his hand over his mouth to stop any overflow. That would have just been embarrassing. Nothing else. Childish, too.

 

It was just so weird and unexpected for a killer to be attempting humour, sarcasm none the less. He couldn’t have not laughed, it was genuinely funny.

 

After he swallowed and took a deep breath, Dwight was sure to respond.

 

“It’s just so terrible, I’ll have another plate if possible.”

 

And Evan smiled. Genuine

 

“Sure thing.”

 

It had been so long and he was just so very hungry. Dwight was already contemplating thirds when his seconds were plated. Eating felt good, it was a sensation he didn’t know how he did without. It was a comfort, it reminded him that he was still alive. And in a way, it comforted him.

 

“There ya go. How’re you holding up?”

 

And Dwight started crying.

 

He was still alive. He wasn’t being tortured.

 

“S-sorry. I just- I...”

 

A comforting hand patted his back and pulled up a nearby chair. Evan leaned into him, not at all phased by the sudden tears. It was like The Trapper understood without words.

 

“Uhh , Don’t worry. Believe it or not I can understand how ya feel. I don’t personally- but I can imagine..”

 

His voice trailed off, unsure. Shaky almost.

 

“I can imagine ya’d probably need space from me at times.”

 

And it was true. It was so goddamn true that the wretched mask caused phantoms of pain to pierce underneath his collar bone whenever seen. The trauma was just so fresh and raw that it was hard not to flinch at Evan’s sudden movements. This was not optimal, but merely an improvement. But he was still grateful, grateful to be spared from the endless cycles of pain and despair.

 

Dwight held back his tears, savouring the feeling of cold air against the fresh streaks running down his cheeks. Crying would only make him look ungrateful. He bit his nails. The pain of chewing on the nubs grounded him. This wasn’t true pain.

 

“It’s just, I’ve been in this- this- hell for too long I’m used to fleeing at the sight of you. It’s just an instinct at this point.”

 

Evan nodded, picking at Dwight’s plate with his fork. It was sweet, sharing a plate. So was the hand around his waist, drawing him in.

 

“Oh, well ya don’t gotta run from me no more. Not all evil, I am. No reason ‘ta hurt the one I chose.”

 

But then why did he do it. Evan was obviously a killer. He was evil, regardless of whatever this was. Dwight seared that thought into his mind. One act of kindness cannot mop up a flood of evil. Nothing could ever change the hurt Evan had caused.

 

But Dwight didn’t comment, didn’t ask for an explanation. That would have been rude. Very rude, in fact.

 

“Yeah, I got you. I’m safe here with you now, I know that.”

 

Dwight continues after a mouthful of eggs.

 

“If it’s not a big deal though, could you leave your mask at the door? It’s just a bad reminder, it just triggers these memories and I can’t help but feel afraid when I see it.”

 

There was a moment of silent contemplation, which Dwight soon filled from nervousness.

 

“Actually nevermind-“

 

Evan interrupted him, his voice oddly enthusiastic. That same kind of enthusiasm from the trap. A chill went down Dwight’s spine.

 

“Nah- I understand real good what you mean. Don’t you worry one bit, I’ll hang ‘er up in the porch after a hunt. Wouldn’t want ta frighten ya now would I? Didn’t expect ya to wanna see me ugly mug though.”

 

And Dwight paused, a pause in turmoil. He was never good at these things, comforting people when they put themselves down. So he focused on the first part. Evan agreed to keep his mask off, which was good. An agreement. He hated being this sensitive, but at least Evan understood. Dwight couldn’t think of what to say, but the conversational gap grew with each passing second. He needed to say something.

 

“Thank you!”

 

He blurted, alongside, “You’re really handsome, actually.”

 

And Dwight paled.

 

He had definitely crossed a line. His heartbeat quickened. Swear broke out across his pale skin. Blood rushed to his cheeks.

 

Evan paused, but then gave a smug smile. Not an angered reaction. Dwight took a deep breath.

 

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it. You’re not too bad yourself.”

 

And it made him blush. Blush because nobody has ever- nobody had wanted- nobody thought that. It was just a fact. Dwight was Dwight. Boring old Dwight. Dwight with a new scars and wrinkles and stubble and too-long hair. He wasn’t not too bad. That just wasn’t true.

 

“That’s not true, but okay.”

 

And he wasn’t playing himself down on purpose. Those people were the worst. He had honest to god never liked how he looked. He didn’t have the strong jawline of a model, and his brow structure was feminine. Nose too small, eyes tilted the wrong way. Nothing handsome about him. And that was that.

 

“Aww, c’mon. I’m sure there had been a gal or two, huh? They’d just fall right over for you.”

 

If it had been anyone else who knew them it would have been cruel. Cruel because they knew he had never had a girlfriend. Which was fine by him. But he had never had a boyfriend either, which was not so fine by him. He was a nerd working a dead-end job, a perfect partner. Dwight sighed to himself and answered.

 

“Nah, never had one.”

 

Dwight could have sworn that Evan was relieved, and he didn’t like how the man almost approved.

 

It was like he was pretending to sound surprised- or concerned.

 

“Oh? Why not? Couldn’t find the right gal.”

 

It wasn’t panic, but Dwight froze. He couldn’t respond without lying. It’s what he’d have to do. It would be better than coming clean about his sexuality, something that would probably end up having a violent end. There was no way that a violent man from who knows when back in time would approve of homosexuality. If his own parents hadn’t, neither would Evan. That’s just how things worked. Most people didn’t even approve of it, he couldn’t even marry a man if he were to escape this place. Didn’t even have equal rights.

 

“Yeah, guess not. Can’t say I was trying too hard though.”

 

It was definitely a look of relief on Evan’s face, not one of sympathy. Dwight wasn’t blind. He knew what that meant. Evan was pleased that Dwight had never had anybody before. It was a weird thing, to Dwight, having somebody think that much about his past. Surely though, he was liked somewhat if his past relationship status was being questioned. But Dwight didn’t know in what way he was liked. He was willing to bet that Evan was one of those closeted guys with a lot of problems. And not from his esteem, not that he believed himself to be that attractive, but it was honestly obvious at this point.

 

“Yeah, sometimes women are more problems than they’re worth.”

 

Dwight was conflicted. His values were different than Evan’s, clearly so after that last statement. He cringed slightly, thinking of s way to respond that didn’t reinforce Evan’s biases.

 

“I’ve never had too many problems with them.”

 

They ate together in silence for a few moments. The eggs really were good. The potatoes were just fine, but probably only because he wasn’t habituated to eating them yet. Give it a few weeks and he’d be fine.

 

There were still things to be addressed.

 

Dwight cleated his throat and put down his utensils. This was probably going to be an intense subject. He braces himself for anger or violence. It’s what he was used to, and what always worked.

 

“So... This is great and all, but I’m still curious. Why’d you pick me out of all people?”

 

Evan’s tone got low and warm, the kind that travelled down his spine in the best way possible.

 

“T’ start, yer right nice. Never seen nobody as forgiving as you for my days here. Yer kind even to the people who keep betrayin you, not something I could ever do. You’re amazing, really. I also just find you endearing, really. Couldn’t pass up a kind-hearted soul after all, god knows I need it. I just thought you deserved it after all.”

 

A somewhat satisfying and surprising result. Somewhat satisfying because Dwight knew there was also the latent reason for his abduction. Whether Evan knew it or not, he wanted to be with Dwight. That much was clear to him now. And he liked that thought.

 

The last bit of potatoes and eggs were shovelled into Dwight’s mouth. The last bite was not bad, if a tad cold.

 

“I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. It means a lot.”

 

And Evan gave that tender smile, the genuinely good-hearted one that Dwight could only blush from. Beet-red and flighty, he waited for Evan. Didn’t know what he was waiting for honestly. Instruction? Probably. Dwight didn’t feel like he could just get up and go.

 

“Ah, no problem, doll- dear- uhh, Dwight.”

 

They both paused, both startlingly aware of what slipped from the killer’s mouth.

 

And Dwight liked those nicknames, the kind of names he fantasized about being called back in high school. He wanted a boyfriend like that who would come up with sweet names like that. He yearned for it now, to be endeared like that, but it couldn’t be. Not with Evan. Dwight’s blush faded. There were multiple reasons why it just wouldn’t work out, their alignment an morality for one.

 

But he held onto that slip of the tongue, filed it away for later. Dwight tried to hold in his laughter, the kind he’d normally employ to diffuse an awkward situation.

 

It was awkward, Evan just standing there and clearly embarrassed. Hands straining at his side.

 

“Dwight; I meant to just say Dwight.”

 

He gave his best reassuring smile, and watched that embarrassment melt.

 

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I don’t mind anyway.”

 

Too far. That was too far. Dwight leaned into the table. He couldn’t be flirty with this guy, but it was just a habit, making these kinda of jokes.

 

“Oh? I see. Enjoyed your breakfast too. What a great morning this is turning out to be.”

 

Dwight nodded and toyed with his fork.

 

“Yeah, it was actually great.”

 

“Actually?” Evan snorted.

 

Things would be fine.

 

“I mean, to someone who’s never had them, creamed potatoes for breakfast doesn’t sound too great. Glad I gave it a try though.”

 

Evan squeezed at his side, and Dwight curled himself up to the man’s warmth.

 

“Mhmm. I have a few chores for ya though, can’t be havin’ no deadweight ‘round here.”

 

Dwight was fine with that. It would take his mind off things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys can follow me at @HallowedO on Twitter if you wanna chat or get updates about new chapters and content. I also play DbD on ps4 and are always looking for new friends :)
> 
> Also, I wanted to note that since Evan is from around the early 1900s he’s quite prejudiced and ‘problematic’, and that his views are his alone, and that I do not share them.


	7. VII - Keepsakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh I don't wanna give you guys any excuses, but I am disappointed in myself for kinda pausing on this fic. Sorry to those who have been waiting but here's the next chapter. Enjoy <3

Doing chores would be a relief. Doing anything that wasn’t repairing generators and running around was a relief. The boring monotony of crossing wires was not missed by him, nor the frightening explosion when he crossed the wrong ones at the wrong time. It just wasn’t his cup of tea. His mind was eager for stimulation, which he knew would come from doing chores. Sure, they were probably repetitive tasks such as mopping or dishes, but he had not done those for eternities on end, it was almost a completely new thing for him really.   
  
And so he did not groan and grumble after Evan brought up the chores. Instead, Dwight asked.   
  
“Really? Sure! What do you want me to do?”   
  
Evan took a moment, taking the empty plate and bringing it to the sink.   
  
“I’d like for ya t’a clean my room for me. I don’t have time to keep up this place very much, but I feel like startin in my room- the heart of this place, would be best. After that you could just dust and  things of that nature to make everything look nicer. A well-kept house would be perfect to come back to, and it’d give you something to do.”   
  
Evan was right. Something to do. But there was that mention of coming back. Dwight settled into unease.   
  
“Coming Back? Where are you going?”   
  
Evan frowned slightly and rubbed at Dwight’s back. Trying to comfort.   
  
“Well you know what I do, right?”   
  
And Dwight did know. He knew that Evan was a killer, and that he had a job to do. But that didn’t mean it would sit well with him. Killing his friends- well. Kate, maybe. He hadn’t expected it so soon though, to be left alone in the killer’s realm. With all the other killers. Goosebumps. Dwight rubbed his shirt into his glasses, a simple nervous tick. 

  
“Yeah, didn’t expect you to be called so soon though.”   
  
Evan stretches out his arms and yawned.   
  
“I wasn’t called, we voluntarily enter trials.”   
  
This was curious, but not enough to distract from eventually being alone in the killer’s realm. It would be dangerous, he didn’t want Evan to go. But he couldn’t say anything, for fear of being clingy and embarrassing.   
  
“Oh, I see then.”   
  
Evan took in Dwight’s nervous form.   
  
“I’m doing it to show my gratitude for getting you, and to fill my cupboards of course.”   
  
It was nice, in a certain way, to be appreciated. Maybe not to kill in his name, but the thought was there, and it wasn’t as if he had any other choice. If it was true they earned rewards for fighting, it just made sense to keep doing it. Almost like a hostage. Almost like him. He was showing appreciation for his captor by doing as asked, for a reward- Favour. And maybe that wasn’t as bad as devotion to an eldritch abomination, but they really didn’t have a choice, either of them. He wouldn’t dwell on it for too long, nothing productive could come from that, the only result being pessimism and potentially contempt. He couldn’t feel that way towards Evan, his warden.

 

“Thank you for providing for us, and your appreciation. I didn’t even get appreciation from my fellow survivors.”

 

Evan pauses for a moment, glancing towards his gift.

 

“Really now? They didn’t appreciate ya? I’ll keep that in mind for the trial.”

 

Dwight knew the implication. Evan would show no mercy in his regard. He didn’t know how to feel about that, being indirectly responsible for someone’s pain and suffering. Part of him- a dark part for sure - didn’t really mind.

 

Evan chuckled to himself, a laugh of pride and satisfaction. He steadied himself and spoke more seriously, crossing his arms for effect.

 

“Do not leave the house. We both know there are other killers in the realm. I have yet to scout opinions on you, since they mostly do not know, but I doubt they’re all positive. You’ll be safe in here as long as you keep the doors locked. These guys here know not to mess with me.”

 

Dwight nodded, ignoring the growing feeling of dread pooling in his stomach like lead sinking down into water. Alone. With the killers. His gulp was audible, and therefore his anxiety apparent. Evan was quick to correct that.

 

“Now now, Dwight, you’ll be fine. I promise you. I asked Herman to keep an eye out.”

 

That should have made him feel better, along with the strong hand squeezing his shoulder, but it’s effect was marginal. He still didn’t know how he felt about Herman. Everything was honestly just so ambiguous and uncertain that he had a hard time coming up with anything certain. Only a few things though. Evan could be trusted. Evan was safety. Evan is leaving.

 

He’d have to make peace with that, something they both knew. And soon the feeling of patheticness washed over him. He was being childish, literally like a child being separated from their mother on their way to daycare for the first time.exactly like that. Dwight held in a sniffle.

 

“Okay, I understand. Thank you.”

 

Instead of leaving there and then, Evan walked towards a door to his left. It was locked with a thick chain around the handles. Obviously meant to be kept secret. There were many entrances and hallways to his abode, most Dwight hadn’t traversed. He didn’t know where that door went, nor what was inside. If it was locked though, he was fine with that. The sounds of rummaging were clear then, along with a few mumbled words spoken by Evan to himself.

 

He emerged not soon after, carrying two pouches of varying qualities. Peculiar. They were thickly woven, and large. Dwight had seen them before. They held traps. He had an idea what was behind that door, then, what it held. Dwight lost the desire and curiosity to sneak in when Evan left, not that he would have actually done so anyway. Too much risk for what? The satisfaction of knowing? That was worthless in the darkness’ realm, where nothing abided by any rules of the natural. That was that then.

 

Evan smiled awkwardly at him, kind of apologizing for having to leave and knowing himself he didn’t want to. But he took the mask off a nearby end table and secured it to his face. It was a weird thing, how much the mask amplified Evan’s breathing. Dwight wouldn’t question it though.

 

“See ya.”

 

And he left. 

 

The door echoed as it shut. Dwight quickly reached for the doorknob and turned the lock. But that didn’t feel like enough. It really wasn’t. He could still feel anxiety creeping in from the cracks. So he patrolled the house, walking along the edges and closed the various windows he came upon. That’s probably why the home was so humid, windows were open that Evan probably didn’t even know about. The decor of the home was rather odd. He’d walk from a room decorated in a full-hearted victorian style, to an almost industrial corrugated steel hallway. The house was a lot bigger than he thought, as well. Dwight came upon what he thought to be a library. It was an airy room, large and with a loft above looking over the various rows of bookshelves. 

 

An arrangement of floral couches and dark mahogany tables furnished the extended hexagonal window. Very comfy. He took note of this room and shut the large window. Onto the next rooms. He went along, shutting windows and observing his surroundings. It was almost like an adventure. If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed this home to be haunted. It wasn’t in the best of sorts, some rooms coated in dust and cobwebs, clearly less frequented than others. It made him think though, back to the pretty library. He did not recall dust or that many cobwebs. Perhaps then, Evan was very well-read? Dwight would ask, it was something the two had in common. 

 

Dwight emerged back at the grand entrance. His breath was slightly sped up from the walk. Nothing like a brisk pace to energize. It would give him the energy for chores, at the very least. It put his mind at ease too, knowing that the doors were shut. Nothing could get in. The front door was locked.

 

Being alone helped him think. He was in no immediate harm, unlike the trials. He could relax- somewhat, at least. He had somebody, unlike the survivor camp. He felt desired, unlike the survivor camp. He knew this should make him happy, but Dwight wasn’t exactly ecstatic. He didn’t frown though, mostly because he was ambivalent on the matter at the moment. Cleaning would ground him. Chores would provide rhythm.

 

There was a problem though. He couldn’t exactly place Evan’s bedroom. Perhaps the man assumed he already knew, in which case his bedroom would be the one in which Dwight woke. That would make sense, considering the attached bathroom and elegant decor. But it honestly wasn’t that much of a pointer. A house like this probably had attached bathrooms for every bedroom. It would make sense. The least he could do, and easiest way to solve his problem, was to simply just look for the room.    
  


Each footstep echoed down the grand entrance, reminding him of how empty- lonely, this place was. Dwight peeked over the rails at the top, willing himself to stop at the vertigo. His fingers trailed along the wallpaper as he made his way down the familiar hallway. He remembered this place, it was the same route he took that morning. This was the right path to his own bedroom, so likely the same path to the living quarters.

 

Three doors down was his own room, pristine as he had left it, save for the ruffling of the sheets he had slept in. Part of him wanted to curl up in those soft velvets, but the majority of him wanted to exert his energy and do the one thing Evan had tasked him with. The only thing he had asked for so far in return for the care he had provided. But he didn’t care about his own room at the moment, that wasn’t the focus. The first room he checked- the one directly across from his own- had to be Evan’s room. Dwight was thankful for his solitude in the mansion, otherwise he would have surely made a face at the smell that overcame him. It wasn’t exactly, bad, but it wasn’t exactly good either. It was dark, blackout curtains spread desperately across the large windows. Clothing littered the floor, and scraps of paper and metal filings covered what wasn’t laundry.

 

Definitely in need of a little cleanup, but not anything unusual for a bachelor. His own room back home had been worse at times. The thought was bitter. He dismissed it quickly. The first task was clearing up the laundry. It should have been gross handling the honestly dirty clothing, but he didn’t find it so. One tended to ignore those things after being through countless of trials and voluntarily sporting blood-soaked clothing to portray his own experience and expertise to whatever killer he’d face. Dirt honestly didn’t bother him anymore, it was simply just a thing that existed, a condition of living. But he shook that thought away. It didn’t have to be like that anymore. He had taken his first shower in ages. He was clean. He could make this room clean again too. It was the least he could do. Dwight started to become familiar with the clothing after a few heaps lifted to a nearby basket. He was familiar with the musky scent attached to some of the garments. And god help him, because he honest to god liked it. His first immediate thought was to rip it away from his face, but the second- the second was to bring it back closer. Dwight recognized what this was, but wouldn’t descend any further. He wouldn’t fall to those levels, he would frankly be embarrassed with himself. This was, in fact, the reason why he hastily brought the pile containing undergarments to the basket. Too invasive. Just here to clean.

 

Next would be the scraps of paper and metal filings. He wasn’t so careful with these items, knowing the latter to likely be scrap. He treated it as such, forming a large pile in the corner of the room before setting off to located something to hold them in. He found one tucked underneath the bed, a brown shoebox shuffled away behind more clothing- ones he tossed into the hamper.

 

Dwight lifted the cover and almost immediately placed it back on. It wasn’t empty, instead rife with trinkets and odds and ends. It seemed that way, until he took one of them in hand. It was a very worn-off pin. Even through the tarnish, he could make out a triangular shape painted with what at one point must have been red. It flipped a switch somewhere, not to the epiphany of course, but to the hint that there was something more to it. So he stared at it, until the triangle became fuzzy as his eyes drifted out of focus. It was a slice of pizza- specifically PizzaWhat. A curious discovery. Something that caught his attention instead of the pressing task of cleaning up. Dwight was certain there’d be enough time, given how long the trials usually lasted. He didn’t really know how long the walk bac would be, either. Probably a good two hours at most.

 

He didn’t take the pin back though, instead putting it into the box. It was then that he noted the square of paper. On the back, A.Young is signed. No date, of course, that was a given. He carefully took the paper between his fingers and turned it around. The sketch almost made him gasp. It was definitely of him, mouth slightly agape and eyes staring straight. It was definitely stylized, with the tint on his cheeks and doughy eyes, but overall realistic. Nice work, in all honesty. Part of him was flattered, nobody had ever drawn him before, but that was only his first immediate thought. The second was a bit more uneasy, the reason for it being here. Sure, he knew the guy liked him to at least some degree, and that was fine and all, but the notion of having a drawing of somebody hidden under one’s bed wasn’t the greatest look. Dwight didn’t mind tho. He admired the sketch, noting the details he sometimes even forgot about himself. Like the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, and the way his eyelashes were just a bit longer than most.

 

He knew why it was a sketch though, because there weren’t any cameras in the realm. He had never seen one. But that wasn’t right, there were security cameras in the factory realm, ones that actually worked. He didn’t think though that they were implemented wholly enough to produce stills. Too advanced for the darkness to mimic. That didn’t make the thought worse, that in any other situation this would be a photograph. It was sweet, and he knew that thinking such just wasn’t okay. His rational side was unnerved, but the side altered by years in the realm thought it was just honestly sweet. He could understand wanting to have a picture of one’s crush close by. The thought made him blush, being somebody’s crush like that. Not wanting to invade Evan’s privacy even further, he returned the items to the box and placed the lid back on. Placed back on and under the bed in a way that would hide his disturbance. Sure, there were more, but they weren’t of his immediate business. His immediate business was cleaning the paper scraps and litter around the room.

 

He didn’t end up cleaning out under Evan’s bed, that would just give it away.


	8. VIII - The Shape Lurks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this one is four months late.

To clean a house was an endeavour. To clean a mansion was a feat. For Dwight, cleaning the rest of the mansion wasn’t as difficult as cleaning Evan’s bedroom. It was just making sure to get the most done in most of the rooms as to spread the work out evenly. It wouldn’t reflect well on him for one room to be ignored. Most of it was just dusting and organizing, no actual hands and knees cleaning. Besides the washrooms of course. Dwight’s was dusty and dirty from misuse- nothing that couldn’t be handled- but Evan’s was dirty from just being the washroom of a bachelor. Probably the worst part of cleaning and the chores assigned, but he didn’t mind. Being able to shower in the first place was worth doing a few chores every now and again. It gave him something to do.   
  
Dwight wiped the sweat from his brow as he gazed at the foyer. He had organized the room and picked up a few loose garments of clothes and folded blankets. Perfect, the last room in the mansion. There were many in the abode. Most were sitting rooms, some kitchens, those kinds of things. The longer he cleaned, though, the more his isolation grew. He was all alone in these never-used rooms. His own Winchester mansion. The thought made him laugh. It was exactly like that.   
  
Nothing else to do, Dwight simply sat on the foyer stairs and caught his breath. It wasn’t exhausting but he had indeed worked up a sweat. He considered showering and thought of his recently cleaned bathroom. His mind wandered to the large pristine bathtub and relished the thought. Basking in the idea of relaxing in a hot bubble bath after working hard in the house. Admittedly, probably not as hard as Evan- whom he was trying not to imagine partaking in a trial- but he was proud of himself for being productive. Bath time it was, then.   
  
Brought into the room with him, a fresh pair of clothes. Red sweatpants and his blue panda t-shift. Not aesthetically pleasing but comfortable for sure. Dwight entered his room and walked into the en-suite bathroom. The lighting was an odd thing. It was as bright as a Swiffer commercial as the sunlight filtered in through the large bay window. Through it, he saw the rest of the misshapen neighbourhood. But he didn’t see any bright sun or blue skies, nothing that would provide such sunlight. Just another thing the darkness got wrong. Unsettling, at worst.   
  
He knew where the linens were, having arranged them himself in the marble counter and folded some into the shape of hearts during his cleaning. They weren’t for Evan directly, more so something cute for himself to come back to. Evan had his own bathroom, anyway. It didn’t take long to find the toiletries. While he hadn’t rifled through the cabinets or anything, common sense dictated them to be underneath the sink or in the closet to his left. His first guess was correct. Beneath the sink.    
  
What unsettled Dwight was that he recognized the branding on the grey bottle, but couldn’t read it. The colours were there, along with with with the shape of the identifiable logo- but nothing else. The letters were not any alphabet he knew, nor the entity’s own runic language he had sparingly spotted throughout his many trials. Just incoherent lettering and shapes that just meant nothing. Dwight frowned but took the bottle into his hand alongside the plush white towels. That didn’t matter. The end result would hopefully be the same. A bubble bath that smelled like the body wash he loved.   
  
Dwight stripped himself off before running the tub. He was careful to hang his dirty clothes on the back of the bathroom door instead of just throwing them to the ground. He wasn’t worried about seeming indecent through the large omnipresent window, given the tile half-wall that covered his lower half, but it still sprinkled him with seeds of anxiety. But he told himself that nobody would care because that was the truth. Nobody would care.    
  
He lowered himself into the cold tub and shivered. Dwight’s body resisted laying onto the cool porcelain, but he willed himself forward. He pooled bubble bath in between his feet, rested under the spigot. It was something weird- but commonplace for Dwight. He’d always get in before turning on the water, mostly so that he’d never have to deal with the overwhelming heat that came from entering a tub all at once. He didn’t enjoy the initial discomfort. Letting the tub fill up around him was much easier, more relaxing as well.   
  
  
  
Not knowing how hot the water could get, Dwight was careful when he turned the knob halfway around the arc. Not too hot but definitely warm. It immediately rushed out around him. Initially cold, Dwight shivered audibly and retreated his feet, but it soon warmed up. Not enough though- he adjusted the dial. The water began frothing as it hit the pool of bubble bath beneath his feet. As the scent of body wash permeated the humidifying air, Dwight breathed deeply. He could get used to this. Heat enveloped his body and his muscles relaxed.   
  
Once the water reached the level of his shoulder, Dwight stretched out his foot to turn back the knob. The stream of water stilled to steaming droplets. He sunk deeper into the bubbly waters. For a moment, he held his breath and contemplated. Contemplated how he was possibly enjoying himself while trapped in the realm of an eldritch abomination. It had to be some form of irony, he was sure of it. That somebody somewhere up there found his situation hilarious. And it’s not as if he was ungrateful either, because he knew that the other survivors had it much much worse. It was good to be enjoying himself in a tub- it really, really was. The alone time was great too, time away from the overbearing presence of his now keeper. It was a funny thought, having a keeper. But it wasn’t an immaculate thought. For all intents and purposes, Evan was indeed his keeper. The killer had said so himself. His pet. So it was good to have some quiet time away from him, relaxing in a pool of steaming hot water.   
  
The sun refracted off the surface of the bubbles and water, creating an iridescent pattern across the roof of the bathroom.   
  
Dwight sat up at the edge of the tub and gazed outwards. His eyes scanned the surroundings for the source of the light. Nothing. Orange-grey fog clouded the sky. There were no streetlights either. Dwight frowned, laying back down into the water. His breath caught. There had been a flicker of white in his periphery. He bit his lip. Probably nothing, just a reflection of the bubbles in the tub. But he needed to be certain. Dwight sat up in the tub once more, water cascading down his body and out around him.    
  
Dwight screamed.   
  
Standing plainly behind the overgrown shrubbery of the Myers house was the man himself. The shape. Standing there, staring up at him through his bored mask. His heart pounded, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own. But he stood there, unmoving. Direct eye contact. He needed to break line of sight. Dwight jumped up out of the tub and behind the tile wall. Bubbles clung to his naked form as he shivered on the tile floor. This was real. This was happening. But the doors were locked, so were the windows. He was fine. Evan said he’d be safe. He needed to be.   
  
Cautious, Dwight crawled low from the cover of the wall and peeked out the window. And The Shape was gone. A chill went down his spine. He needed to arm himself, just in case. He rubbed the fog from his glasses and fastened them to his head. Dwight didn’t have enough time to dress, simply slipping on the plush down robe from the wall. Tying it quickly around his waist, he made haste towards the kitchen. Footsteps pounded- and so did his heart- down the stairs. Dwight ran his fingers through his hair. He pulled at it and made a sound of frustration. It felt as if his heart were about to leap up through his throat and force its way through his gritted teeth. He needed to calm down before he passed out.   
  
All the doors were locked, and the windows were open. Things would be fine.    
  
Dwight rounded the grand staircase and flung himself towards the kitchen. His right leg ached with dull pain. The trap’s injury haunted him, awoken by the exertion that had been forced upon it .    
  
Hyper-aware of his surroundings, the white plate hung up on the wall made him flinch and yelp. Almost there. He could make it. Water dripped down from his legs onto the carpet. So much for cleaning up.   
  
A cool gust of air caused Dwight to shiver and fasten his robe. And he froze. The window was open.   
  
Frantically, he searched the kitchen for anything he could use as a weapon. A rolling pin sat behind what looked to be a blender. Not good enough. A chill went up his spine. His neck whipped behind him to see- nothing, there was nothing behind him. Hands shaking, Dwight glanced up above to the cookbook shelf. As a bookend, a block of kitchen knives stood precariously. Carefully, he lowered the block onto the counter and retrieved the largest knife. It dazzled in the kitchen light. But there were no lights. The white was a reflection.   
  
Michael Myers breathed behind Dwight. And he froze. This was it. But this was his chance. With all the might Laurie had taught him, Dwight spin around quickly and plunged the knife down into Michael's shoulder. A loud groan rang out into the kitchen, not unlike the sound he made when slammed with a pallet. But Dwight felt no remorse as he dropped the knife and ran out from the kitchen and back into the foyer. He needed to hide- but he was unsure. Michael sometimes had the ability to find them just by looking, hiding sometimes was useless. He considered leaving the mansion but turned away from the locked entrance. He’d hide. Better than facing the other killers. His mind frantically scoured memories from cleaning. Cleaning had shown him parts of the mansion. Parts that could be used to hide. He just needed to remember.   
  
As inspiration struck him, he darted out of the foyer and towards the laundry room. The carpet buckled upwards, Dwight tripped and landed on his knees. His world was blurry as his glasses were lost on the ground. He didn’t have time to look for them beyond a brief sweep of his hands. Nothing. The linen closet would be his safe haven. Not only was the door able to be barricaded with the wardrobe, but there was a window there too. He could hold up there, and if need be, escape through the window. His footfalls were dampened by the cushy carpeting.    
  
From roughly ten meters, Dwight could hear the now laboured breathing of Michael. He didn’t even look back to confirm. There was no point. The shape was definitely angry. The laundry room door was beckoning him at the end of the hall. The handle jiggled under his shaking hands as he pulled the door open quickly and slammed it shut behind him. From the brief glimpse upon closing the door, blood flowed down The Shape’s shoulder and down along his hands that should have been holding a knife. But there was no weapon grasped in his hands. Dwight paused, momentarily confused. But it didn’t matter. Michael could easily strangle him anyway.   
  
The closet to his left alongside the dresser to his right didn’t look too heavy. With frantic breath, he gathered his strength and hauled them in front of the door. His muscles screamed from the effort. The pain of pushing his limits took its toll. But he didn’t want to die. There was no lock, not that it’d do much anyway. As the second piece of furniture was tilted across the doorframe, Dwight breathed a sigh of relief. He could catch his breath. Phlegm gathered in his mouth from exhaustion. The feeling made him gag. He was not used to exertion. In any of the trials he had ever partaken, nobody fatigued from the copious running around the large realms. It was a miracle too, because Dwight had always been out of shape. But in a trial, he could run forever. Something he now knew had been taken for granted. Grimacing, Dwight spit the fluid from his mouth. His lungs were sore, desperate for air.   
  
Dwight sobbed. He didn’t wanna die. He didn’t even know if he’d come back here, and since the darkness wouldn’t heal him- probably not.   
  
The heavy breathing of Michael penetrated the walls. It echoed out around the furniture and into the laundry room. The doorknob began to jiggle. Slowly, first, then furiously. Dwight shivered as his wet body froze in terror. Bubbles around his belly button popped. He needed to do more. The slow creak of moving furniture filled the room. The door opened just a smidge. The white mask peered into the room, eye-hole lined up with the crack. Dwight swore he could see blue, where it had been only black during the trials.   
  
Myers was opening the door.   
  
Now or never. With sudden realization, he darted for the shut window. The closet would be his demise, the same scenario as during a trial, he’d be hauled right out of there and straight up killed. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. The old window lever squealed with rust as he hurriedly twisted it around. The skin of his palms burned from the friction, but he didn’t care. The window opened itself finally as Dwight turned back to see one of Michael’s hands reaching in through the crack and waving around looking for the clutter barricading the door. It was time for him to go. While not wide enough, Dwight squeezer past the window’s threshold. A loud snap followed the stress on the hinges. The window fell to the grassy dirt but did not shatter.    
  
As he stared out into the hazy subdivision, his mind went blank. There was nowhere for him to go. The sudden chill of the air filtered into his robe and raised goosebumps on his skin. Through the hazy fog, the neon medical cross flickered in the distance. That’s where he’d go. Herman didn’t seem like he wanted to kill him that badly- and there really weren’t any other options. A loud crash from inside the manor alerted him to get a move on.    
  
His footfalls against the soft dirt were desperate and fearful. The neighbourhood was desolate really, empty save for the barely houses and cawing of crows.   
  
But the large hospital beckoned to him, as a beacon of safety.   
  
His bare feet scraped against the rough concrete pathway, drug as they passed along a patch of loose rocks. Sucking in air and spitting out phlegm, Dwight pushes past the swinging doors and gathered his breath once inside the blue-hued room. The scent of ozone was not in the least comforting to him- instead it filled him with anxiety. Reminding him immediately of the trials with Herman. Without Evan’s presence, he didn’t know if the man would hold back his killing instinct.     
  
He wasn’t safe yet though, this close to the door. And if his memory of the trials served him correctly, they seemed to be able to follow their tracks after running- and run he had.   
  
Carefully, he opened a wire-framed door and entered into what appeared to be a waiting/dining room. Plastic chairs sat in rows along what appeared to be a ceramic tiled dining table. Above him a brilliant chandelier hung. Electricity arced along the light fixtures ornaments. He wasn’t here to admire though. Panting heavily, he almost missed the sound of pained wheezing. Dwight knew that sound anywhere, slowly turning his head around as if to avoid alerting an animal on the hunt. And that’s what Herman was, in all honesty. A predator.   
  
The wheezing man narrowed his eyes, glancing over his underdressed body. Dwight covered himself up. Electricity sparked along Herman’s metal implants. He clapped his hands once and held them behind his back.   
  
“So, tell me why you think I was the best person to visit after running away from my dear friend Evan? That cute face of yours won’t win any favours here, not currently anyway, not even if you’re half-naked. Nope.”   
  
Dwight widened his eyes. Word salad fumbled at the top of his tongue- so many things to say.   
  
“I didn’t-no- not running away. I- was in the tub, and I saw him-Michael! Standing there.”   
  
Herman licked his teeth.   
  
“Alright? So he’s a bit of a voyeur, why run away?”   
  
Dwight pressed his palm to his forehead.   
  
“He came inside the house, and Evan was.. Evan was away on a trial. I’m just s-so sc-ared. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”   
  
Herman stepped forward, awkwardly tapping Dwight on the shoulder. The man hesitated though, held himself back. Sparks dripped from his metal headgear. There was nothing but silence between them, and even so, Dwight understood the unspoken words meant to console.   
  
“If you weren’t Evan’s trophy, I probably would have hugged you to comfort or something. Not mine so I won’t get touchy. I guess I can understand though, how little mice fear us cats. Probably the right choice, honestly. Doubt Myers would come to my hospital. I’ve noticed that he always seemed averse to them. Rumour has it he used to be locked up in one. But that’s beside the point.”   
  
He left off there, and Dwight had nothing to add. They stared at each other, Dwight cringed at his wheezing. Not the most enjoyable sound.   
  
Herman walked past an oak door. Dwight followed, fearful of isolation. Pointed towards a large leather chair, Dwight apprehensively took a seat. It was facing what appeared to be Herman’s large ornate desk. The room had a metallic smell to it.   
  
“I’ll let you stay here until Evan returns. Man probably won’t be happy at all that you’re not home. Probably kill me if he finds you here without context. Hope you’re happy, what was it? Dwight?”   
  
Dwight nodded and picked at his fingernails. Better than eye contact. He sniffled and wiped his nose into the robe. His blood was still pumping with adrenaline. He had survived.    
  
“Yes- I mean thank you, sir. I appreciate it a lot. Yeah, it’s Dwight.”   
  
His shoes suddenly seemed very interesting.   
  
“I can see why he likes you. Find a file or something to read- doubt that Myers will bother you.”   
  
Not the most entertaining way to pass the time, but better than running for his life, better by far.   
  



	9. IX - Consolation

Herman had left him alone to his own devices. Dwight was fine with that at first, until the silence left in his absence revealed the ambient sounds of the hospital. He could hear the sparks of electricity and the static from display monitors. Frantic screaming periodically shouted from loud speakers. Definitely not the most relaxing ambient. He needed to be near somebody, regretting how he let The Doctor simply wander off. The shock from his encounter with Michael still had him on edge, because if Laurie had taught him anything, was that man was unrelenting if he was after something he wanted. So he couldn’t help but be on edge, it was inevitable. His eyes ached from the dull-ness of his uncorrected vision. He wouldn’t know where to get another pair. The thought of getting used to being without them was troubling. After a trial they always care back. He wasn’t sure about now.

 

Following where Herman had gone, Dwight made his way past a set of swinging double doors and into a hospital hallway. Dirty gurneys sat dejected along the walls. Fluorescent lighting flickered.

 

“Herman?” He called out.

 

No answer. Dwight ascended a flight of stairs, one that came into a break room of sorts with even more doors. Like a labyrinth.

 

“Herman?” He tried again.  

 

“That’s Doctor Carter to you. What is it? You seemed fine with me leaving a few minutes ago.”

 

His white coat floated behind him as he swiftly approached. Electricity arced along the metal implants along his leathery biceps. Not as muscular as Evan, but definitely moreso than himself. Dwight shook his head. Not the time. Herman’s presence was indeed intimidating, from his crazed smile to his artificially widened eyes. The man seemed to be a know it all, too.

 

“Sorry, didn’t know what name you preferred. I just- I’m still worried about that man, and this place doesn’t exactly fill me with pleasant memories.”

 

Herman nodded and took a seat on a black foldable chair. He widened his legs and rested his elbows on each knee, simultaneously cracking his knuckles.

 

“Well, my diagnosis from everything considering is PTSD, towards which I’ve likely contributed. You mice have such delicate psyches, it’s quite endearing honestly.”

 

Herman wheezed in amusement.

 

“Alright, so do you mind if I stay close to you until Evan gets back? You’re his friend so I know you won’t try to kill me or nothing, plus I don't know if Michael will sneak in when I’m not looking.”

 

The Doctor rubbed his forehead, breaking eye contact.

 

“Not a problem, mouse, you are quite skittish aren’t you? Yes, I can definitely see what Evan likes. Don’t worry about me killing you, not interested in being killed in turn. Myers is an unpredictable asset. He appears neutral in most regards, only interested in killing. It’s strange though, for him to intrude on another’s territory so brazenly. He’s getting bolder, I don’t like that. Hmmmm.”

 

“Yeah, not a fan of how he just came inside and harassed me.”

 

“I take it you just feel a bit lonely too. Trust me when I say this but I can relate.”

 

Dwight took a seat on a nearby chair, resting his head against the peeling wall.

 

“Fair enough. Soooo what do you do in your free time, Doctor?”

 

Herman rubbed his hands together, electricity racing between them. He chuckled to himself.

 

“Well, mouse, I study neuroscience in my downtime, writing articles for if I ever get out of here. I’ve learned many things of the mind during our little games. You’d be amazed at how many sensations one can falsely experience.”

 

The nickname was not appreciated, but he wouldn’t comment on that. Not his place given the hospitality so far. The mention of their trials fought back painful memories of crazed hallucinations. Dwight frowned and bit his lip. Again, not worth mentioning. It would only start a fight instead, he’d amuse the man’s attempt at conversation.

 

“Oh? So you’re like doing research then? If it’s in the field you love, must be pretty satisfying.”

 

Herman snorted and motioned Dwight forward.

 

“Yeah I’m ‘like’ doing research. Fascinating stuff, really. Doubt you’d understand though.”

 

Ouch. Harsh. Probably not wrong though.

 

He lead him back downstairs towards his office. The door was held open for him. Dust danced with the air in a stream of light.

 

“How polite.” Dwight joked.

 

The man in charge took a seat in his chair behind the desk. It groaned under Herman’s weight. Sitting in front of the desk, Dwight suddenly felt much smaller.

 

“I’m a well refined man, what can I say?”

 

Keeping up with the friendly charade, Dwight let out a fake swoon.

 

“Oh Doctor, so charming, such prowess.”

 

A low rumbling static filled the room. It crawled down the metal fixtures along the wall and dripped from the ceiling. It built at his feet, but a different kind from the trials. Dwight pretended not to notice. As much as Herman could in his headgear, he approximated a smirk. Dwight felt his cheeks heat up.

 

“Careful now, you might be joking but I can start talking for real. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, mouse? Part of your affliction I suppose. Can’t though. Again, Evan would slaughter me if I touched you in the wrong way.” 

 

Nonchalantly, he began sorting through a stack of papers in front of him. Dwight noted the bolded ‘Classified’ logo, and wondered what the man had gotten himself into. Anything to ignore what Herman had suggested. Because it wasn’t true, he didn’t feel anything but anxiety for the man. Maybe the case could be made that he was affectionate from his fear- but it was not real affection. Simple circumstance. What he knew though is that he liked Evan, and anything to do with his friend like that and things could get messy. He wouldn’t disrespect Evan like that, when the man had done so much for him. Not a good idea to joke with the man, all things considered.

 

“Tell me about your work, then.”

 

And the static rumble ceased. Probably a good sign.

 

Electricity arced through his headgear as he smiled.

 

“Ah- I can talk about it for ages. Where should I begin?”

 

Dwight paused, knowing absolutely nothing about this science aside from impulse transmission- a staple of high school biology

 

“Hmm, how about the most interesting thing you’ve discovered over the course of your work? That sounds good.”

 

Herman wheezed into a sound of contemplation.

 

“The mind is a powerful thing. It’s all like one big muscle of course- a cross between a circuit and a muscle. It runs biochemically on electric charges to send impulses and deliver messages. Much like a computer or circuit- the brain can be hacked. That’s where the fun begins. If you send just be right current through just the right specific neuton, you can make a person experience anything. The greatest pleasure, the worst pain, anything. I was supported in my initial studies.”

 

Dwight scratched his forehead awkwardly, finding the answer to be just a bit intense. It made sense though, logically, what Herman said. That one could hack into the mind of another. What really caught his attention though was the idea he was initially supported in his studies. Now, Dwight was never one to take on offensive conspiracy theories, but he wouldn’t say he never considered them at times. He read the MK ultra files when they were released. He knew the American intelligence agencies were interested in those activities.

 

“Oh, I think I know about that. The government released documents about it?”

 

They locked eyes. Heavy breathing.

 

“You ‘think’ you know about it? What government are you talking about, mouse?”

 

His voice was steadily rising, somehow as if Dwight was trying his patience. Or maybe it was excitement. Either way, Dwight could feel the static charge in the air. 

 

“American government. They released documents pertaining to MK-ultra around the 2000s. Can’t remember exactly.”

 

Herman started laughing. His unsettling sing-song giggle that made Dwight’s hair stand on edge. This man was definitely intense- not as relaxing as Evan’s presence.

 

“Oh, that thing? Child’s play. Insignificant. Work of an ignorant scientist who cared nothing for his craft. A distraction, really. If the government released these documents, would the public pursue the matter further? No, they would not. I’d almost go out and say MK-Uktra was a false flag, but I know better. Just the work of a rookie scientist. Work that resulted in nothing of value. Me on the other hand? Haha…”

 

Herman let his voice trail off and leaned back in his chair. It creaked under his weight.

 

“I guess that kinda makes sense? I’ve heard of false flags before.”

 

“No doubt about it. If my works ever came to light, the idea excites me on one hand to view the pure terror on their faces- but I guess I won’t be around to see it if there’s ever a leak. Not that I mind being here, of course.”

 

It was something for Dwight to consider. Whether or not killers actually wanted to be here or not. For the most of them, Dwight would say no. But there were a handful who Dwight could tell just loved the sport. Herman was on that list.

 

“You don’t mind being here?”

 

“Excellent question. Well, yes and no. I’m happy to have a constant stream of patients, but at the same time my experiments on them are…. limited. I have little time to see my hypothesis true, but what I do find excites me. I’ve discovered ways to completely bring one to their knees with simple electricity. That’s very appealing to me, of course. But there are days though, when I wish I was able to blend in with society as if I was normal, seeing the blue skies, talking with my colleagues and things of that nature. I’d probably leave if given the choice, but I’m not looking for the opportunity.”

 

Dwight nodded. He couldn’t relate, nor understand, so he just nodded. Not much else he could say.

 

“Ah. That makes sense.”

 

Not to him though, not at all. He was actively looking for a way out and actively disliked being in the clutches of darkness.

 

Dwight went to say more, but a caged line shined red and a small buzz rang through the hospital corridors. Both sat up from their chairs in the office.

 

“Fire?”

 

Herman shook his head.

 

“Not at all. Simply somebody at my door. Probably Evan. Let’s see how this goes.”

 

Dwight paused momentarily. Evan was back. Dread dripped down into his stomach like lead. He could feel it rolling down his esophagus. The man would definitely not be happy. Not only had Dwight pretty much trashed the laundry room, but he had gotten water everywhere in the washroom and left the window open. Consequently, his body began shivering with anxiety. He never took being yelled at very well, never at all. 

 

Herman lead the way back down to the front doors. Dwight probably wouldn’t have been able to find his way back. Much like Evan’s home, the place was quite large. Likely, in all honesty, from just how effective The Doctor was at throwing them off their game in trials. Definitely a killer to be respected, even now- with some semblance of amicability.

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

Herman slowly turned his head around. He giggled as sparks rained down his figure.

 

“Nothing but the truth, of course. Don’t lie to my good friend here, okay?”

 

Dwight simply nodded. Nothing more to say that would accomplish anything.

 

“Lips not working?”

 

He glanced up at The Doctor, who expectantly stared down at him.

 

“Oh- Uh. Sure thing. I won’t lie.”

 

Dwight passed through a door held open for him.

 

“I’ll take that. Normally you have plenty of manners. I suppose since you’re nervous, they’re not coming as easily. Forgivable.”

 

The voice that filled the waiting room was angry and despaired.

 

Hernan entered the lobby first, motioning for Dwight to stay back.

 

Evan’s voice- distorted by his mask and emotion- sent the wrong kind of goosebumps across his skin. His blood pressure picked up. The phantom of a heartbeat picked up in the air. Dwight tucked his arms close to himself and cast his gaze towards the ground.

 

“Hernan! Bloody hell, something’s after happened when I was in a trial. Dwight’s gone- god ‘elp me- ‘looks to be one hell of a struggle.”

 

Evan clenched his fists and wiped at his brow.

 

“Relax. Dwight is here with me. There was a bit of an incident so he ran over here for my help.”

 

Taking it as his cue, Dwight filtered into the waiting room and confronted himself with Evan’s panicked gaze. The Trapper’s shoulders immediately fell. His sigh echoed out from under his mask.

 

“Dwight. No words. C’mere, doll.”

 

He didn’t even need to be asked, already approaching the blood-stained main. Although this overalls definitely weren’t the cleanest, Dwight eagerly accepted the hug. The feeling of the strong embrace lowered his blood pressure. The heartbeat he thought he heard had only been his own. Just anxiety, that was all.

 

“I’m sorry, I got water everywhere and made a mess of the laundry room.”

 

Evan lifted up his mask, showing off a relieved smirk. It was toothy, too. Friendly.

 

“Nah, but ya escaped. That’s what matters. I bet you also got at least some cleaning done, and that’s enough for me.”

 

Breathing through his mouth, Dwight nodded and tightly squeezed the killer’s waist. He was still there, didn’t disappear when he closed his eyes. Safe.

 

Dwight could still hear Herman’s wheezing in the background. The doctor stood silent, observing their interaction.

 

“Ah- am I interrupting?”

 

Dwight turned his head from Evan’s torso to see the man’s expression. It was strange, difficult to read with its distortions. Evan shook his head.

 

“Nah, just wanted to say thank you for everything. You knows yourself Dwighty here couldn’t do much against Michael on his own so if it weren’t for you, well, I don’t want to think about that.”

 

Electricity ran along the ground.

 

Dwight didn’t like the idea of being unable to do anything against Michael, but he wasn’t wrong. Even back when he took place in trials, wasn't much they could do besides stab, and that only stunned them momentarily. To actually injure them, a Herculean amount of effort for sure.

 

“Mhm, no problem. Dwight here lost his glasses, I’d look out for them if I were you.”

 

The hand against his forehead was surprising but not unwelcome. Two fingers caressed down the bridge of his nose along his cheeks. Where his glasses should have rested.

 

“Ah, don’t worry there, love, I can find ya a pair.”

 

Evan retrieved his hand and held up a hand towards Herman.

 

“We’ll be leaving now, if ya don’t mind. I’ll be back later to chat about this, alright?”

 

Herman simply nodded as Evan and Dwight left the hospital together. With a strong arm around his waist, Evan wasn’t letting his prize out of his sight. Dwight glanced back into the hospital to see Herman simply watching them leave, mouth ajar, longing.

 

“Y’kay?” Evan asked as Dwight tripped on the overgrown pathway. 

 

Fog rolled out around them. The neighbourhood seemed much more sinister.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
